5 or 6 years
by AtlasMonster
Summary: Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU - Myka and Helena have been married for 5 or 6 years, each of them leading a dangerous double life as a professional spy. When they unintentionally screw up each other's assassinations, their mundane marriage gets shaken up, Bering & Wells style...
1. Therapy

**So, mostly because I really wanted to write the final scene about the two of them in therapy being asked 'the sex question' again (what no, I haven't already written it, I don't know what you're talking about…) I am going to go with this whole thing. **

**It's happening fast, mostly because I am avoiding revising for some super important exams, and also because as season 5 approaches, I find myself descending into deeper and deeper denial. **

**Note: They are angstily, horribly **_**not **_**all over each other at the start, don't worry, things will get better and snarkier. Also note that this is an AU where there's no stigma attached to being gay, gay marriage, gay **_**anything **_**and literally everything is peachy in terms of equality, etc. It's a world that I hope we get to one day. Enough of my emotional bull, here's the official chapter 1. **

The therapist's room was dimly lit. _Dimly lit and uncomfortably furnished._ Myka thought, as she shifted her position in the arm chair, crossing and uncrossing her long legs. Beside her sat Helena. Her wife had a detached expression on her face. The kind of expression that suggested the wearer was diverting far less than half her brain power to the task at hand. Myka momentarily wondered what Helena was actually concentrating on, before dismissing the thought. _Does it matter?_

The therapist rattled on, welcoming them, introducing himself, explaining the format. Myka herself was only half listening. In her head she was mapping out her next operation. Dates, times, targets. She had a list running in her mind, an endless list of things to get done, both in her professional life, and her personal life. _The latter of which is apparently suffering_.

She tuned back in on the session when Helena's voice cut through her stream of thoughts.

"I'll start," Helena had said.

Despite her indifference towards the whole situation, Helena still spoke with a sense of polite concern. Above all Myka noted, in that short opening phrase, her voice managed to convey her own unwavering self-confidence. Something that, when they had first met, Myka had found annoying but also undeniably charming. She still did, she realised.

"Let me say, we don't really need to be here." Helena continued. "See, we've been married 5 years."

"6," Myka corrected, feeling it more appropriate to stretch her fingers in response, instead of rolling her eyes.

"5 or 6 years," Helena carried on, unfazed. "And this is just like a routine check-up for us. A chance to poke around the engine, maybe change the oil, replace a seal or two."

This time Myka did roll her eyes. _Always with the mechanical references._

"Very well," the therapist said. "Let's pop the hood." He turned the page of his notebook. "We'll start simple. So, on a scale of 1 to 10, how happy are you as a couple?"

"8," Myka replied quickly.

"With 10 being unequivocally happy, and 1 being downright miserable?" Helena asked, feigning interest again.

"Just respond instinctively," said the therapist.

"Alright," Helena turned to Myka for the first time in the session. "Ready?"

"Ready," Myka replied, not looking back at her wife.

"8," They said simultaneously.

The therapist nodded at them. Myka began to wonder how long they would be there.

"How often do you have sex?"

There was a pause, as the two of them considered the question. Helena opened her mouth to respond, but then thought twice. Her usual quick snarky remark would probably not suffice.

"I don't understand the question," Myka said.

"Likewise," Helena found it easier to agree. "Is this to be measured from 1 to 10 again?"

"Is 1 very little, or is 1 nothing, because you know, technically speaking, 0 would be nothing," Myka found hands moving to emphasise her point.

"That's right," Helena agreed. "And if we don't know what 1 is, how can we gauge what is 10?" She chuckled.

"Because, 10 would be," Myka paused, unsure of where she was going with this. "Well, you know, constant…"

"Unrelenting," Helena smiled, her mind wandering slightly.

"Not stopping for…" Myka looked over at her wife. A flashback to the first few months they were together crossed her mind.

"Any food, or _anything_ for that matter," Helena finished her sentence, holding her wife's gaze momentarily.

Myka quickly turned her head back, not wanting her face to give away the memory that was playing out. It was too late though, Helena had seen her wife's fleeting expression, and she too found herself remembering the rather intense encounters the two of them had enjoyed at the start of their affair. Helena couldn't help but broaden her smile at the thought. Myka saw what her wife was doing out of the corner of her eye, and tried desperately to ignore her.

"It's not a 1 to 10 scenario," the therapist said and Myka was grateful for the interjection. "It's a basic question, how often do you have sex?"

Silence.

"How about this week?"

Pause.

"Including the weekend?" Helena asked.

"Sure."

More silence.

Eventually, it was the therapist who nodded. "Okay, well, that speaks for itself."

Myka shifted uncomfortably, Helena only ran one hand through her hair before settling again.

"Why don't you describe how you first met?"

"It was in Colombia," Myka relaxed.

"_Bogotá_," Helena added. "5 years ago."

Myka breathed out in mild annoyance. "6." She corrected.

"Right," Helena nodded, the corners of her mouth twitching. "5 or 6 years ago."


	2. Bogotá, Colombia

_**A/N – Hello all. Firstly, thanks for the positive feedback so far. Here is the next instalment. Warning - I cannot speak Spanish, so I used google. They are only short phrases, so hopefully it's all good – but do let me know if it's wrong. Anyway, not much to say – here's chapter 2.**_

_**Bogotá, Colombia. 5 or 6 years ago…**_

Myka leant against the counter in the hotel foyer. Colombia was beautiful and vibrant, but it was also hot and tiring, and she was ready to go home. The assistant behind the desk returned with her dry cleaning, and she thanked him in Spanish.

As she turned to leave, her ears picked up a commotion outside, then a dozen armed officers came spilling into the lobby.

"Hey," She called back the assistant. "Qué pasó?" _What happened?_

"Somebody shot that millionaire, the one staying down town," the man replied in a quiet voice, looking down as he shuffled papers on his desk. "Police are looking for tourists travelling alone."

Myka nodded and turned back around, her hand reaching slowly behind for her gun.

One of the policeman scanning the area noticed her, and began to make his way over.

"Estás sola, señora?" _Are you alone, ma'am?_

Myka tensed and didn't answer.

"Estás sola?" The officer asked again louder, this time reaching for the gun in his holster. Before Myka could reply, the doors to the hotel flung open again. A woman walked in, followed by more officers.

"Señora, pasaporte?" _Passport?_ They were asking her.

Myka should have been counting her exits, planning the escape route with minimal casualties, but instead she found herself staring. Staring rather intently at the beautiful woman stood across the reception. She was a tourist, of that much Myka felt sure. She had dark glossy hair that seemed to have been made for this hot yellow light to fall on. It was shiny and perfectly placed about her shoulders. Her eyes were dark to match, they were alive though, expressing the woman's distaste at being harassed. She had soft pale skin, not the kind suited to this sort of heat, although she did not appear to be flustered at all. In fact, she too was staring. Staring straight back at Myka, with a discerning look on her face.

One of the officers that had followed the lady in was shouting now, grabbing hold of and shaking the woman's arm, something that a minute ago would not have bothered Myka, but now it did. She instantly started plotting this man's demise.

"Estás sola? Estás sola?" The officer was asking, gun in one hand.

"No," the woman spoke, not breaking Myka's gaze. The man shook her again.

"Hey, she's with me," Myka didn't realise it was her that had spoken until she was halfway across the floor, leaving her gun hidden under her clothes. She reached the two of them, slid her arm around the woman's waist, and pulled her away from the policeman. "She's with me." Myka repeated.

Ignoring the dirty look on the officer's face, she led the woman by the hand out of the foyer and up the stairs, without looking back. She unlocked her door, and pulled them both inside. Only then did she let go of the stranger standing next to her.

The two of them leant back against the shut door. The voices of agitated policemen echoed up and through the old walls.

"Helena," the woman said after a second, a strange smile on her face.

"Myka," came the reply.

"Nice to meet you," Helena said, extending her hand.

Myka took it gently, unable to stop a smile breaking out on her own face. This was an outcome she had not predicted.

* * *

They were sat outside a small café in town. The sun had disappeared hours ago, and Myka couldn't decide whether she was happy about it or not, because in the new hazy candle light, Helena's hair looked incredible in an altogether different way. There had barely been a second since they had met in which Myka had not been staring. Staring at Helena's hair, or the shape of her lips. Staring at the way her eyes flickered from person to person, always to settle back on Myka. Staring at the way her fingers seemed to find comfort in a touch at the base of her neck. She was drinking this woman in and wanted to do so for the rest of her life.

"To dodging bullets," Helena was saying, raising her glass to Myka's.

"To dodging bullets," Myka agreed, downing her drink.

Helena was quiet for a moment. Enjoying the soft music and buzz of alcohol in her stomach. Enjoying the _nearness_ of her new acquaintance, which was something Myka had noticed. Helena seemed to have no concept of personal space. She had stood close, sat closer, and then always seemed to be leaning in, with this lingering look on her face, as though she were challenging Myka to pull back, _daring_ her.

At first, Myka had been confounded by this behaviour, ruffled almost. But inevitably, (and certainly it did not take long) she found herself responding. She didn't flinch as Helena moved millimetre by millimetre closer to her until she could feel the warmth radiating off the woman's bare skin. Helena was so close now that Myka could smell her scent, not a perfume Myka thought, but rather her natural aroma which seemed to disorient her feelings. She didn't look away as Helena's gaze unashamedly wandered over her body, to finish on her lips before catching her eyes again. She found her fingertips would subconsciously trace up and down Helena's skin whenever and wherever she could, the need to caress this woman irrefutable.

So, when Helena tilted her head and murmured into Myka's ear, "Dance with me." Myka could not say no. _Not that it was a question. _Myka thought. Helena commanded with each and every syllable, and Myka was hopeless to resist.

The night passed in a blur. Myka was swept around in Helena's arms, laughing, smiling, breathless. Helena was not only beautiful, she was intelligent too, scarily so. She would quote lines from Carroll, whisper about the intricate inner workings of a quartz watch before telling Myka that her laugh would have distracted great rulers of kingdoms long forgotten had she graced their lives in history.

After some time, Myka realised she could hear a deep rumble of thunder underneath the music. The impressive heat of the day called for a storm coming in for the night, clouds gathering to drench the city in a tropical downfall. Helena seemed unconcerned, and when the rain hit, she simply led Myka to the shelter of an archway across the street. Then, she turned and with a disarmingly honest look in her eyes, kissed Myka, lips cold and laced with the taste of rum. Myka kissed back, hands pulling at Helena's waist to fasten their bodies together. She had to physically stop herself from groaning in disappointment when Helena pulled away.

"Let's go," Helena hummed.

Myka could only nod before Helena slipped their fingers together and dragged her, none too patiently, back to the hotel.

They were soaked through when they reached the room. Myka took her time undressing the woman in her bed, surrendering to her own selfish desire to touch every inch of Helena's body, receiving small gasps in acknowledgement of her labours. _Although, the word 'labours' made it sound like a chore. _Myka thought._ This most certainly was not._

Free of her clothes, and shivering slightly in as the cool air breezed over her skin, Helena pulled Myka down and rolled over to straddle her, a hungry and determined look on her face as she began to return the favour. Myka willingly relinquished control, more than content to resume staring at the beauty on top of her. She wondered what this whole evening really meant to each of them, as Helena deftly unbuttoned her silk blouse. That thought was swiftly forgotten as a slim finger teasingly trailed down from her ear, over her breasts, pausing to loop around the smooth skin of her stomach, before disappearing further down her body. Myka drew in a breath, clenching her hands and gasping at the first of many touches that would leave her begging for more. There began a long, blissful, _unrelenting_ night.


	3. Breakfast

**A/N – Hello, here to deliver the short-ish chapter 3 of this AU. Just a couple of things, really – more characters are coming over the next few chapters, they won't have a major part to play, but the Mrs &amp; Mrs ****_do_**** need some work buddies, right? **

**Humdinger – yes, the characters fit quite nicely, although sometimes I will switch a scene or two to a different character to suit my needs, hopefully it'll work out okay.**

**Nighthawk88 – yes, never fear, they will most definitely be trying to kill each other in the near future!**

**As always, thanks for the feedback/views etc. enjoy part 3. **

Helena woke the next morning with a pleasant ache occupying every muscle in her body, and it took her a moment to remember why. Then with a small, wry smile on her face, she rolled over to study the woman lying next to her. Myka was asleep on her front, the white bed sheets only covering the bottom half of her body. Helena couldn't resist running her hands over the bare shoulder blades and down the spine of her lover. _Where had this woman come from? _Helena couldn't remember the last time her heart had fluttered in such an uncontrollable manner as her had when she had seen Myka in the hotel. She replayed the scene in her mind with uncharacteristic giddy happiness. She had been rescued. _Rescued_. Nobody had rescued Helena in years. In her line of business, you had to have the highest level of self-proficiency, or you would get yourself killed. Helena was the best at what she did, she knew how to handle herself. So when this woman had stormed across the lobby and slid her hand around her waist, tugging her firmly away from her would-be attacker, Helena had been dumbstruck. Afterwards, she should have been on a plane back to the US, but instead she had stayed, mesmerised by this American woman and her intelligent green eyes.

They had spent the whole afternoon just talking, having a conversation that didn't seem to have a start nor end. They had talked about everything, anything and nothing. She felt like she knew the woman beside her, despite her being a complete stranger. She knew the way her mouth quirked, the way her hands talked, the way her eyebrows drew together in a frown.

Helena placed a kiss on the sleeping Myka's forehead. She didn't want to leave her side, but she was hungry after their rather spirited evening together, and she realised, she was in desperate need of tea. _Tea. _Helena mused as she slipped out from between the sheets and pulled on yesterday's dried clothes. _Your cover is supposed to be a travel-loving American tourist, and you cannot function without a cup of English tea. _Helena almost chuckled out loud at the thought of her cover being blown due to her desire for the hot beverage. She walked quietly to the bathroom, splashed some water on her face, and then allowed herself one last glance at Myka before she left the room in search of breakfast. She had some thinking to do.

* * *

Myka woke in a daze. The balcony doors were wide open, the thin veil curtains bellowing in with the morning breeze. All traces of the storm had gone, and the sun was oozing into the room, with a light warmth and yellow tinge. She sighed, smiling to herself, and it took her a moment to realise she was alone in an empty bed. Just like that, all the glorious feelings of the night before left her heart in an instant. _A one night stand. _She shook her head, running a hand through her untamed curls, trying to curb the pain that was quickly rising in her chest. _This one is going to hurt._ She propped herself up on one elbow, pulling the sheets up and around her midriff, and tried to sort her muddled thoughts. _Why did it hurt? It was just a night of fun. It would never have gone anywhere._

She was still searching for an answer when the door to her room creaked open. Myka looked over, her hand sliding down the side of the bed for the knife she had hidden upon arriving. She was prepared to throw when to her surprise, Helena walked in, a tray in her hands. In the light of the new day, Helena was just as breath-taking. The same butterflies that had controlled Myka the night before, returned with a vengeance. A strange content glow settled in her stomach and she tried to hide her gladness at her lover's return.

"Hello, you." Helena murmured, herself caught at the sight of Myka draped the bed sheets, looking rather fervent upon her entrance. "Did you sleep well? You seem flustered."

Myka was quick to look away. "You were up early," she said, her voice betraying her true meaning.

Helena noticed the inclination in Myka's voice. "Only for breakfast," she reassured, putting the tray down on the bedside table. "A recent encounter with a beautiful woman may have me reduced to hopeless romantic gestures," Helena admitted, as Myka's eyes caught sight of the freshly plucked flower lying alongside the toast and coffee Helena had brought back. "I had rather hoped I'd be back before you woke. At least then I could have blamed my poor attempt at breakfast-in-bed on an unsuspecting room servant."

Myka relaxed, her laugh was soft. "No, thank you, it looks delicious."

"So kind of you," Helena replied. "For all the trouble I went to, it had better be delicious."

Myka took a bite of the toast. She hadn't realised, but she was ravenous. "How can I ever repay you for your service," Myka asked, lips twitching into a smile.

"Oh, I can think of a way." Helena said, moving so close to Myka that she was forced back down onto the bed. "You didn't really think I'd leave this morning without saying goodbye?"

"Well, I…" Myka didn't get to finish her sentence before Helena's lips found her neck.

"Because," Helena continued, well aware of the immobilising effects of her kisses. "Last night was…"

"Incredible," breathed Myka.

"Yes," Helena chuckled into her skin. "Quite so, and perhaps I am just being _greedy_," more kisses scattered across Myka's body. "_Rapacious_ even, but I'd love to continue this endeavour indefinitely, if you would allow it." Helena stopped her advances to look back up at her companion, her face all of a sudden serious.

Myka felt her whole body buzz in response. She couldn't help the restless grin that emerged on her face. "Yes," she said, pulling Helena back up until they were face to face. "Yes, please."


	4. 6 Weeks Later

**A/N – Say hey to Pete &amp; Claudia. Heads up, there will **_**eventually**_** be a plot line, fleshing out the start has taken longer than expected, sorry. I've switched their professions around, Helena seemed to suit the computer/technology thing better, especially with Claudia as her partner in crime. Myka's cover profession is not mentioned, but I'll make it clear later on if need be.**

_**6 weeks later…**_

"How do you do that?" Myka couldn't keep the awe out of her voice.

"Do what?" Helena asked innocently.

"You know exactly what. Manage to be charming and witty and not come across as sarcastic and annoying."

_It's because I'm actually British_. Helena thought amused at first, then she frowned. Lying was an integral part of her profession, and Helena liked it. She could be whoever she wanted, manipulate people to do her bidding, but lying to Myka _hurt._ "You can take lessons, you know?" She eventually replied, plastering a smile on her face.

"Oh really? Am I not witty enough for you, Helena? Not charming enough?" They were walking along the busy streets in the centre of town, a festival had arrived and was in full swing that weekend. That didn't stop Myka from boldly allowing her fingers to wander across Helena's body, as she turned and placed a fiery kiss against Helena's neck.

"Darling," Helena exhaled.

"Darling this, daring that. Stop talking for a moment, would you?" Myka usually shied away from public displays of affection, but Helena had been teasing and smirking all day. Payback was long overdue.

Helena needed to divert Myka's affections, because here in the middle of a busy street was not the best place to be painfully aroused. A stall caught her attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, oh, ladies and _ladies,_" The man corrected. "Come and have a go, Sharp Shooters is a challenge for even the best gunners in the state!"

"Myka," Helena nudged her lover. "Let's have a go,"

Myka sighed. "Fine, but if I win, I get to do whatever I want with you later," she murmured into Helena's ear.

Helena smirked. "And if I win?"

"I'll be all yours," Myka said seductively under her breath.

"Do you know how to hold it, miss?" The stall manager was asking.

"Like this?" Myka picked up the gun.

"That's right, hold it good and tight now, it'll kick back a slight."

Helena watched Myka as she took a stance with the rifle tucked under her arm. _Good Lord she looked hot with a gun._

Aiming carefully at the moving targets, Myka began to shoot, she hit just over half, throwing the rest wide on purpose. She laughed. "Not bad."

Helena just smirked. The thought of Myka doing her exact bidding for the whole evening was enough to make her want to win. _Screw my cover. _She thought mischievously.

Helena picked up her rifle in one smooth action, and fired away. She hit all but the last two targets, firing her shots in rapid succession. Myka had been paying little attention, more occupied in how attracted she was to Helena with a gun, until she realised where the shots were being placed. With a small frown, she looked from Helena to the targets. She dismissed her thoughts as quickly as they had arrived. _Relax. You're not at work._

Helena had turned to face her, a smug smile on her face. "Beginners luck," she teased. "And that means you're, ah what did you say? 'All mine' later?"

"Here you go miss, a teddy for your prize."

Myka raised an eyebrow as Helena passed over the stuffed toy to her. "I want to go again,"

"The lady wants to go again!" The stall manager exclaimed.

Myka had already picked up the rifle before Helena had paid the man. This time, she shot true, her bullets slamming into the moving targets one after the next.

Helena watched in surprise. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

"Beginners luck," Myka said, a playful smile on her lips. "And I believe that this means, _you _are _mine."_

_**Nielson HQ, somewhere in New York.**_

Pete walked with his usual confident step as he made his way down to the training deck in HQ. He had a good vibe in his body. _Today was going to be fun_. Somewhere between breakfast and the office doors, he had decided to confront Myka about her new relationship. Pete had met Helena a couple of times, the woman was smoking hot, smart and charming. Since they had been together, Myka had been glowing, and Pete was ready to call her out on it.

He opened the doors to find Myka already dressed for a workout. There had been a lull in missions lately, and with Helena away on business for a couple of days, Myka was restless.

"So, have we got the old Mykes back?" Pete said as he wandered in, an empty paper bag scrunched up in his hand, the tell-tale sign of his breakfast, along with the crumbs on his shirt.

"What are you on about, Pete?" Myka scowled. "I'm here. On time, I might add, unlike some people." She was warming up, her fencing foil gripped lightly in one hand.

"Hey, you know how I _have_ to stop on Madison Street to get a coffee one of those amazing pastries they do, y'know the ones with that raspberry filling and the fluffy crust and…"

"Pete!"

"What? Just thinking about them is making me hungry." Pete rubbed his belly and started thinking about where they could go for lunch.

"You sure it's not the cute coffee girl that has you going back there every morning?" Myka smirked, she'd seen his hopeless flirting with the girl, Kelly.

"What? No," Pete pulled a face. "I can't stand her. She's bossy and mean and _always_ telling me I need to lay off the cream puffs." He shook his head. "Besides, stop changing the subject. I want to know, have we got the focused, organised, kinda uptight Mykes back?"

Myka threw a stab at his shoulder and Pete jumped backwards. "What are you on about, unless this is just you insulting me for no reason?" She huffed.

"Well I guess that answers the question." He said, stepping further back to avoid any more attacks. "I just figured, because Helena is away for a few days, maybe that glow of yours would disappear."

Myka blushed. "I don't have a glow!"

"You totally do,"

"Do not!"

"Whatever," Pete put his hands up to surrender as Myka held her foil under his chin. "What does she do, anyway?"

Myka eyed him suspiciously, not trusting Pete to have let her off that easily. "She works downtown, that big server company, with all sorts of technology and engineering."

"Sweet!" Pete breathed. "So she's like Batman with computers?"

"Something like that," Myka shook her head. "She travels as much as I do, with call outs and such. It's pretty perfect." Myka smiled.

Pete watched his best friend as she turned to mush in front of him. He rolled his eyes, they needed to get the workout started. "Hey do we have to fence today? When was the last time anyone was assassinated with a sword? It's all about the guns baby," Pete pulled his favourite hand gun out from its holster. "Whatchaa!" He spun about, imaginarily picking off the other agents in the room.

"Pete!" A cross voice called out across the room. "Would you kindly stop waving the gun around?"

Pete stood still, caught in the act. "Ah, hey Artie! I'm just showing Mykes how guns are the obvious weapon of choice, not these stick swords, you know?"

"Stick swords? Pete it's called a foil." Myka sighed. "Besides, you just don't want to fence because you never win."

"Not fair," Pete complained. "The reason I don't win is because there are too many stupid rules. Why can't I just stick you with the pointy end and you die?"

"The pointy end? I…" Myka was interrupted by Artie holding his hands up.

"Enough. Myka I need you in my office in 5. We have a matter to deal with. Pete? Make yourself useful or hit target practice, just stop waving that hunk of metal about."

As Artie disappeared around the corner, Pete turned back to Myka.

"We're not done with this conversation."

"What conversation?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Mykes, we need to talk about Helena."

Myka smiled at the mention of her name.

"See, that there is what I'm talking about," Pete pointed at her smile. Then he gasped, eyes wide as he realised his vibes may have meant something else entirely. "Do you love her?"

"What?"

"You heard me, are you in love with Helena G. Wells?"

Myka was bright red. She didn't want to talk to Pete about this, at least not right now. She had no idea what she was feeling. All she knew, was that Helena made her so nervous she felt like her heart would give out whenever she was around. "Pete, it's barely been 6 weeks since I met her."

"6 weeks shweeks, who cares how long. You're dodging the question, plus you're all touchy because you haven't had your hot sexy lesbian scissoring in over 24 hours."

"Pete!"

"When does she get back? Until then I am going to lay low."

"I am going to kill you." Was all Myka could get out.

"Hah! You totally love her! Look at your cheeks, I've never seen you blush this much, not even when you had to report to Artie about that hockey guy you bumped off and it involved some, let's just say,_ saucy_ clandestine activities."

"Pete!" This time Myka punched him, hard.

"Myka and Helena sitting in a tree…" Pete sang as he retreated hastily out of the room. He stopped in the doorway though, his annoyingly adorable face was sincere. "I'm happy for you Mykes, you know that right?"

Myka shook her head, despite her annoyance. "I'll see you at lunch."

"Yahoo! I knew it! You guys will have the hottest babies _ever._" He ducked as Myka threw a towel at his head, and quickly left the room.

Myka stood, and stilled herself, trying to compose her mind. _I love her._ The admission was not as surprising as it should have been. There was something about Helena that just _clicked_. With a deep sigh, she made her way over to Artie's office. Mission, objectives. She could deal with her feelings later.

_**Twins Corporation Offices, Chicago.**_

"So, Miss Donovan, are you going to tell me what has you all worked up, or do we have to drag out this small talk which you know I detest?"

Claudia had her qualms about talking to her partner about her personal life. There was a general rule in their business: you didn't ask, you didn't pry. But H.G was the closest thing Claudia had to family, and Helena was acting off.

"Maybe we should talk about this, y'know, after you've knocked off this guy." She was guiding H.G through the dark halls of Twins Corp. offices. Their mark was a big shot lawyer, working late, as he did every Tuesday evening. Helena was to pay him a visit, with regards from their employer.

"Claudia," Helena began.

"Watch your 6," Claudia muttered into her mouth piece. Helena swiftly moved around the corner and out of sight as the evening janitor emerged on the 16th floor.

The squeaking wheels of his trolley filled Claudia's earpiece. Everything was static for a minute.

"All clear," Claudia said, as the worker entered one of the conference rooms further down the hall. She'd be flitting around the edges of the 'conversation' before chickening out and talking about the weather. Helena hated talking about the weather.

"What's on your mind, Claudia?" Helena had barely managed to ask before the young technical genius blurted out.

"How's Myka?"

Helena frowned. "You want to talk about Myka?"

"Well, I was just wondering, because since you've been back from Colombia, things have been different, you're a bit different."

"Different?" H.G thought it best to let Claudia speak her mind before she rebutted.

"It is different, right? She's not like the others you, uh, spend _time_ with. I mean, usually you move on after one night,"

"Claudia!"

"What? It's true! Sometimes it's not even a whole night…"

"Claudia, are you going somewhere with this?" Helena asked, exasperated.

"I'm just saying, I think you've got it bad."

Helena chuckled at the comment, her low, characteristic laugh made Claudia relax slightly. _Got it bad. Interesting phrase. _Helena thought, musing over the choice of words. _Entirely accurate, though. _

Claudia looked at her monitors to see that Helena had paused outside the mark's office, her head leant back against the wall. They were both silent for a moment.

"I'm going to ask her to marry me." Helena said, softly, but with every ounce of conviction.

Claudia's fingers stilled on the laptop keyboard. She focused all her attention on HG. "You're what!?" She held her earpiece against her ear to make sure she had heard correctly.

"I'm going to ask her to marry me." Helena said again, feeling very calm about the whole thing. In fact, it was a relief to tell somebody.

Claudia looked on her monitors and watched H.G in the black and white CCTV stream she had hooked to her screens. Helena's face was half hidden in the shadows, but she was smiling. A spaced-out, wide-eyed, love-sick smile that didn't even come close to the smile she wore when working on her inventions, and that was saying something.

"H.G are you sure? I mean, granted I've never seen you this gooey eyed, like, ever," Helena scowled at that. "But you've only known this woman for a few weeks, you don't think this is moving a little too fast? You do have kinda an _impulsive _nature," Claudia said, her voice reluctant.

"I love her," came the simple, honest reply.

"You love her." Claudia repeated. Despite her hesitance about the whole situation, Claudia found herself grinning. "The Great Helena G. Wells has fallen in love?"

"Yes," Helena didn't know whether to believe it herself."And it may surprise you to find out that I have thought this through. It's been the _only_ thing I've been thinking about. But, Claudia, Myka… she's smart, beautiful, sexy, complicated, and God that hair…"

"Alright, alright. I've heard enough, Casanova." Claudia rolled her eyes. "Finish the job, then we can talk about wedding bells."


	5. Routine

**A/N – (here's a long-ass message, feel free to skip it…) First, a massive thanks for all the views/reviews/follows etc. they really make my day. Second, this chapter is going to jump about a bit, with italics all over the place, so I hope it all makes sense as you read. I needed to explain from both sides where their marriage was 'at'. Third, updates are going to get further apart because I suck in real life, and also because I'm stupidly writing about 4 different things at once, so bear with me.**

**To the guest reviewer who mentioned Angelina, personally she's not my type, but the film still rocks, and I ****_can_**** appreciate her hotness. Thank you for the kind words, too.**

**Humdinger – (hey again) I can't blame the fans/writers for the love of the B&amp;W hair. It's kind of incredible. I actually love Myka with straight hair as well as her usual adored curls. As for Mrs F, I was thinking of having her with H.G and Claudia, although we will see. More on that later… Finally, I really want to work Steve into it too, because I love Jinks and I need more of him in my life. Also Leena. Also so many other characters. Therefore, I may add more to the plot to include them all blah blah blah. I'll stop talking now. **

**_Present Day, The Suburbs._**

Myka ran fast. Her feet skimming in light rhythmic steps over the concrete footpath she was jogging down. She did her usual route, looping around in a large arc through the back allies of suburbia, around the park, and finally down the main street. It was 6am, the rest of the neighbourhood was asleep. For Myka, it was the one time in the day where she could clear her mind. Running made her feel liberated, free.

It wasn't as though work was stressful. She was organised, methodical. Things rarely went wrong, and if they did, she had a contingency plan. She always got her mark. _Not in real life, though. Or should I call it my cover life? _When she ran, it was mostly her personal life she thought about, mostly Helena_. Smart, obnoxious, smug, gorgeous, infuriating Helena._

She reached her house, and slowed to a walk as she came up the drive. All the lights were off. Helena no doubt was in bed, where Myka had left her 45 minutes ago. In the first few months of their marriage, Myka would come home, creeping through the house so as not to disturb her lover. Helena would wake though, as Myka tiptoed through their room to the shower. Her usually perfect hair would be messed from their evening together, her eyes sleepy. Sleepy, but full of irresistible lust. She would crawl across the bed, sheets slipping off her smooth bare skin, and she would pull Myka, sweaty and breathless, on top of her, and then, they would both be late to the office. In fact, the reason Myka ran so early in the morning was because of just that. Their passionate morning-sex-after-jogging forced her to get up earlier, because despite how much she enjoyed the body-wracking orgasms and the thrill of Helena's moans, she refused to be consistently late for work. It was not in her nature.

Now, her early starts were a force of habit, not a necessity, and she made no effort to be quite as she returned. She was peeling her clothes off as she made her way through the bedroom, throwing them into the laundry basket in an accurate curve. Helena was curled on her side, eyes shut. Myka paused as she often did to watch her sleeping wife. _It's my fault. Our failing marriage is my fault. We had a good thing, and I ruined it. _Myka had long ago directed the blame at herself. Their marriage had stalled. Of course they talked, but it was about what was for dinner, whose turn it was to wash the dishes, who would pick up the shopping. There was a kiss on the cheek here and there, a card on their birthdays, a 'romantic' dinner every now and then. They went about their married lives on auto pilot, the perfect cover. Except that it wasn't a cover. It was supposed to be real.

_"Why have you come back here today?" The therapist asked._

_Myka fidgeted in the chair, uncomfortable in every sense of the word. She bit her lip as the therapist waited._

_"I love her, really I do." _

_"Mrs Bering-Wells, you do not need to convince me of your devotion to your wife," the therapist said in a gentle tone. "You just need to tell me why you felt you should return alone. Last week you seemed quite dismissive of our session. Don't worry," the therapist laughed as Myka looked away, guilty. "It's a common reaction when it comes to therapy. So, tell me, what has changed your mind?"_

_Myka did not answer for a while. She sat, brow furrowed, twisting a strand of her curly hair around her index finger. When she spoke, it was disjointed and halting. "It was nothing really, just a silly conversation"_

_The therapist looked on encouragingly. "Go on,"_

_"Helena came back from work last night, and I asked her how her day had been. 'So-so'. That's what she said. That's _all _she said. And I, well I just feel like there is this huge gap, you know? This huge space between us and it just keeps filling up with all the things we don't say to each other. What is that called?"_

_"Marriage."_

_Myka looked down at the gold ring on her finger, she turned it around in a full circle._

_"What are you not saying to each other?"_

Everything. _Myka thought. "Um, well. You know, everyone has their secrets."_

_"Do you think Helena is keeping secrets as well? Or is this a problem you need to address yourself? Sharing is a form of trust, Mrs Bering-Wells."_

_"Just Myka, please. My surname can be a quite a mouthful."_

_"Myka, then. You have not answered the question."_

_Myka looked away from the therapist's questioning gaze. She knew Helena did not 'share' either, in that way they were alike. "I don't know. Perhaps we are both just not saying things. It's not like I am lying to her," she tried to justify her behaviour. "Just I don't feel like I can share every detail of my life."_

_"I'm sure she would not judge you or betray your trust. What is stopping you from sharing?"_

The fact thatI am a highly trained contract killer leading a dangerous double life?_ "I have control issues." Myka settled with._

_The therapist nodded. "Would you say that control was a large part of your personality?"_

_"Yes, maybe. I like order and logic. I think things through, I don't make rash decisions. Everything has to be under control, or else where would we be?" Myka trailed off, shrugging. _

_"You accepted Helena's proposal after 6 weeks."_

_Myka took a breath. "Yes."_

_"Isn't that a rash decision? 6 weeks is not a long time to think things through."_

_"It was different back then."_

_"Different how?"_

_"Helena…" Myka murmured, a slight smile on her lips. "She, well, _we_ were more relaxed, everything was new. I was swept off my feet by this mysterious stranger. An intelligent, beautiful stranger. I felt like I could trust her with the world."_

_"So what has changed?"_

The therapist's words echoed through Myka's head as she looked at Helena. She was beautiful_,_ devastatingly so, as she slept. Myka used to spend hours just watching her wife breathing. She would marvel at the curves of Helena's body, as she always slept on her side. She would run her fingers from her jaw to Helena's slightly parted lips. Helena was the sole definition of grace. _She was graceful still, and not to mention a thousand times less annoying when she was unconscious_. Myka mused.

Then her heart skipped a beat and she snapped out of her daze, because Helena had opened her eyes, and was looking straight back at her. The two of them stared at each other in silence, Myka unable read the expression on Helena's face.

"Hey," she said softly, looking down and away, blushing at being caught.

"Hey yourself." Helena replied, her voice unusually quiet and earnest.

Myka opened her mouth, as if to say something more, only to come up blank. Eventually she escaped Helena's curious eyes, turned on her heal and walked hastily into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. With her back against the cool frosted glass she tried to calm her racing heart. _All these years. She says two words to you, and you still fall to pieces. _

With a shake of her head, she pushed herself upright, pulled off the last of her clothes and flicked on the shower. _Time to drown it all out. _

* * *

Helena lay still in the bed, her eyes had not left the shadow of Myka's toned back pressed against the bathroom door. She could see the steadying rise and fall of her shoulders, her palms flat against the cold surface. '_Hey yourself'. What on earth was that? _She groaned inwardly. The sight of Myka standing in a sports bra, sweat gleaming off her shoulders, red cheeks, and hair pulled back exposing the exquisite shape of her face had caused Helena's stomach to clench in the most delightful manner. Apparently that was not the only organ affected. _'Hey yourself'. What had possessed her to reply with such a choice of words? More importantly, why had she opened her eyes?_ For a while now, Helena had laid impassive when her wife returned from her morning run. Her keen ears would pick up the sound of Myka coming up the gravel drive, the key in the lock, the sound the water faucet, the sound of footfall on the stairs. She would lie still pretending to sleep until Myka hit the shower, so why today had she decided to watch? Helena shook herself. _What did it matter? Another meaningless exchange. _She glanced over at the clock on the bedside table, although she really didn't need to. Myka always returned at 06:03 on the dot. Helena was married to possibly the most meticulous woman on the planet. She sighed, fully awake now, and not fancying being in the room when Myka re-emerged, dripping wet and smelling of her favourite body lotion. _No, that would definitely not do_. Helena rolled out of bed, her feet curling as they hit the cold wooden floor. _Breakfast. _

The house was its usual grey and quiet self. Helena came down the stairs, her eyes lingering on the curtains in the dining room. She recalled the conversation they'd had at the weekend.

_"I got new curtains." Myka had said as Helena sifted through the post tray in the hall._

_Helena looked up. The new curtains in question were a mottled grey colour. Hideous. _

_"Hmm." She replied._

_"There was a struggle getting the material," Myka continued, her arms folded across her chest as she assessed her handy work. "This man had his hands on it, but, I won." _

_Helena looked at her wife. "Of course you did." _

_"They have flecks of green, so we are going to have to reupholster the sofas and definitely get a new rug to match."_

_Helena raised an eyebrow. "Yes, or we could keep the old ones, and we wouldn't have to change a single thing." _

_Myka looked from the curtains to her wife, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. "We talked about this."_

_"Yes, I remember." Helena stood in the doorway, meeting her wife's icy stare.. "I remember saying we'd wait."_

_Myka let out a heavy sigh, her hands moved to her hips. "If you don't like them, I can take them back." It was a challenge._

_Helena smirked. "Okay, I don't like them."_

_Myka's gaze hardened. "You'll get used to them."_

Helena flicked on the warm yellow kitchen lights and set the kettle to boil. She turned on the television. It was already on the news channel, they rarely watched anything else. _How could the woman who had been painstakingly stubborn and fastidious over their dining room curtains, be the same wild, unrestricted woman who returned from a run each morning? _Breathless, unbound, exhilarated Myka was the person she missed. _Is that why I opened my eyes today? _She exhaled slowly, mind turning to the therapy session she had attended alone.

_"So, part 2. Here we are, only this time you're by yourself. Why did you come back?"_

_Helena turned her attention to the therapist. "I don't know." She did not like needing help. "Let me clarify, I love my wife." The therapist looked as though he was going to say something, apparently Helena did not know that her wife had been there but hours before, saying exactly the same thing._

_Helena continued before he could. "I want her to be happy. I want good things for her. But there are times when…"Helena shook her head, settling her shoulders back in the chair. "Things always have to go her way."_

_"What is wrong with her way?"_

_"Oh, nothing really."_

_"Nothing? Then what's the problem?"_

_Helena didn't answer, instead she looked out of the window, her fingers tracing along her collar bone._

_"Mrs Bering-Wells?"_

_"Helena, please." The therapist smiled at that comment._

_"Helena, I cannot help the two of you if you do not talk to me."_

_Helena faced the man before her. "There is no room for change."_

_"What would you change about your relationship?"_

_The smile on Helena's face revealed more than her words did. "It used to be easy,"_

_"In what way?" The therapist prompted. He was used to having to dig for answers, he could be patient._

_"When we first met, it was her that made the move." Helena remembered. "She was easier then, easier to please. Just simple things like a flower on a breakfast tray, or a squeeze of hands to make her know I was there." Helena cursed at her romanticism. "Colombia was simple. Married life is not quite so."_

_The therapist laughed. "Definitely not."_

_"And now? I sometimes I want to throttle her." Helena gritted her teeth. "Things have to be exactly right. I could recite our life routine and act it out for you. It all goes according to plan, with no room for error."_

_"Couples often miss the spontaneity and novelty of the early stages of their relationship"_

_"So how do you suggest we get that back, doctor?"_

_"Do you think you know your wife, Helena?"_

_Helena frowned, momentarily stumped by the change in conversational direction. _

_"Yes." Helena replied. Then, "Well, no actually."_

_"Then maybe it is not a case of 'getting that back' as you said, but a case of finding it in the first place."_

Helena was barely listening to the news reports. She didn't realise how long she had been sitting there thinking until she heard Myka coming down the stairs. _06:45. _

Her wife walked in, dressed in a tight fitting shirt and blazer. Her curls were still damp from the shower and she smelt like raspberries and vanilla. It made Helena's head dizzy. She gave Myka a cautious smile, before taking her mug and moving over to the kettle. She had completely forgotten about making her drink.

Helena found herself hyper-aware of her wife as they went about their routines. The usual silence was comforting, but somehow it seemed intensified, after the morning's encounter. By half 7 they were both ready, in the hallway putting on their coats. Myka pushed her sunglasses on, her green eyes instantly hidden behind dark lenses. Helena wrapped a scarf around her neck, lifted her keys from the tray, before opening the door. Then, Myka gave a polite smile, and walked through, leaving Helena to shut and lock the house behind them. _Routine. Normalcy. _Helena took measured breaths, she needed to get her mind off Myka. _Let's hope they have a job lined up at work. _


	6. Helena

**A/N – More gushing thank yous from me, nice to know people are reading/appreciating this fic. So, chapter 6. I've had debates about Mrs F. and Artie. If anyone is familiar with the film plot, you'll hopefully understand how the characterisation of the 'big bosses' had to change slightly, compared to the Artie and Mrs F. in the WH13 universe. If you haven't seen the film – it will all make sense eventually, I just wanted to give a heads up as to why they may appear to act out of character in the coming chapters.**

**Humdinger – I have written a reply to your comment, it's at the bottom because I got carried away too…**

**Anyway, enjoy part 6. It's all about Helena…**

**_Frederic Offices, 8.14am._**

Helena was pacing. The office was empty, as it usually was at this time in the morning. The rest of her agents didn't arrive until 9am. Which meant Helena could think. Think about Myka. _No. You don't want to think about her. You want to think about anything but your wife._

"Mrs Bering-Wells?"

Helena jumped, hand instinctively reaching for her gun. "Mrs Frederic, you caught me by surprise." _Like you always do. _Helena frowned. It was unusual to see her boss in the flesh, which was the first give away. Mrs F. usually contacted the team electronically, and orders usually came via Claudia, but then, today was going any way but the usual way. "Do you have a mark for me?"

"Yes, I do. But that is not why I am here."

"No?"

"No."

"Alright then." There was an uncomfortable silence, on Helena's end at least, whilst both women surveyed each other.

"Are you well, Helena?" Helena cringed. There was the second give away. Other than Myka, people rarely used her Christian name. _Where is this going?_

"I am perfectly content, Mrs Frederic." She replied, slender hands smoothing down her shirt.

"You are agitated."

Helena sighed, coming to the conclusion that there wasn't any reason in denying it. Mrs F. had her way of knowing things, a 6th sense, according to Miss Donovan.

"Just a personal ah... predicament." She settled with, although predicament didn't even begin to cover the turmoil currently occupying her brain. "Nothing new. It will not affect ability to complete the job."

Mrs Frederic did not say anything, instead she stood altogether still, regarding the woman in front of her with a careful stare.

"You have nothing to worry about, Mrs Frederic, I can assure you." Helena allowed her persuasive, confident tone to creep back into her voice. Mrs Frederic was a shrewd, calculating woman, and Helena did not want to imagine her fate it appeared that she were personally compromised.

"Very well." Mrs Frederic eventually let out.

Helena almost sighed in relief, holding back at the last second. She looked out of the window at the cityscape to avoid Mrs Frederic's intense eyes.

"But Agent Bering-Wells? Do keep the collateral damage of your missions to a minimum. We must remain discreet if we are to remain competitive. I'm sure I do not need to remind you that we are not the only company that deals withunwanted characters."

Helena swallowed, and turned to agree with her boss, only to find an empty spot where she was standing a moment before.

"The 6th sense and now teleporting abilities," she breathed aloud, shaking her head. _Things may have just gotten more complicated._

* * *

"Who is he?" Helena was impatient. She was itching to get her hands on a gun, a knife. _Somebody's neck._

"Whoah, now." Claudia leant back away from Helena, her harsh tone almost like a physical blow. "What's got you all riled up?

_I'm in love with my wife, but at the same time, I'm not. I know her, but at the same time I don't. She's a familiar stranger, and I can only imagine that I am a familiar stranger to her, too. Oh, and I have a feeling Mrs F. knows absolutely everything in that uncanny way of hers. _ Helena's train of thoughts went round in circles.

"Never you mind, H.G, I have a bad man for you to kill."

_Excellent._

"Tobias Alessi. Italian arms dealer. He's in town. Mrs F wants this done quick and quiet, he's supposed to be moving a shipment this evening."

"Not if I get to him first."

"Exactly."

"What's my in?"

"Well, Toby here loves, loves, _loves _female company, of the, uh, _dominating_ kind."

"I dread to think how you found this out, Miss Donovan."

"Oh the things I do for my job," Claudia sighed.

"Give me the specs."

"Already forwarded to your phone." Claudia replied, as Helena headed for the door. She definitely was not hanging about. "Helena?"

Helena winced. _Twice in one day. _Claudia only used that name was when she wanted to get touchy-feely. "Yes?"

"Are you sure you're okay? I mean, I know things haven't been great, y'know personally,"

"And how would you know that?"

"I may or may not have hacked your schedule and seen the therapy sessions you've booked, which of course I can _totally _un-see, and I can un-see them super-duper fast because boy, you do not look happy with me."

Helena's scowl deepened. She wasn't really angry, but it was easier to be angry than it was to admit what she was actually feeling. And that was upset. _Upset about Myka._

"It's just we usually run over a few more details before you go all ninja on your mark's ass, if you know what I mean?" Claudia thought it best to return the conversation to work, as Helena did not offer anything up. "Like how are you going to take this guy out?"

"Miss Donovan," Helena returned Claudia's personal intrusion with a professional smile. "I assure you, my method is none of your concern. I have a plan."

"No you don't." The accusation, or rather, statement came from Steve Jinks, who had just walked into their office.

"Perfect timing Jinksy!" Claudia spun her chair around to greet her friend.

The noise Helena made next could only be described as a growl. _Who cares about collateral damage? _"I am going to improvise. I fancy getting my hands dirty." Then Helena was gone, out the door before Claudia could get another word in.

"This is not going to end well." Claudia groaned. The times when H.G wanted to improvise usually ended in an elaborate performance and Claudia always had to deal with the public fall out. Whatever or _whoever_ Helena was worked up over, she needed to get over it quick.

"Maybe I shouldn't have said anything," Steve said, worry on his face.

"Nah, whatever Helena has planned, or more appropriately _doesn't _have planned, she's been careering towards it at full speed all day. She was a bomb waiting to go off, and Jinksy my friend, you just provided the spark to light her fuse."

"Because that makes me feel a thousand times better, Claud."

"You're welcome. Now sit, Mrs F. has a case that requires your unprecedented interrogative skills."

* * *

Helena had left the office in a storm after lunch. She had been as patient as she could, spending the whole morning catching up on paperwork, waiting for Claudia to come back from her meeting. Apparently, she was not the only one Mrs F. had wanted to talk to in person. Now she sat in the back of her car, as her personal chauffeur, Charles, drove her around town. She relaxed slightly as she flicked through the files Claudia had sent to her, immersing herself in her next hit.

Mr Alessi was staying in a grande deluxe suite. _Of course. These thugs were never anything other than cliché. _She ran through the other details – the body guards and their training history, the layout of the suite. Slowly she allowed a loose plan to form in her mind. If all went smoothly, she would not engage anyone other than Tobias. _Lucky man._

The problem with this job was going to be the exit strategy. Access was easy enough, and with the help of Claudia, she had an appointment with Tobias at 6pm. However, she couldn't just waltz out, leaving his dead body in her wake, without expecting a reaction from his beefy acquaintances. As she pondered over the problem, her eyes fixed upon the blueprints showing a balcony jutting out from the main bedroom. _Hmm. _A small twinkle appeared in her eyes. She leant forward to talk to her driver.

"Charles, can you take me to our good friend Chaturanga?"

"Of course, Mrs Bering-Wells."

Helena had surprised herself. She had a plan.

* * *

Helena walked into the hotel lobby. She knew she was turning heads with her long bare legs, her coat tight against her waist, her make-up bold and alluring. _All part of the image._ Her heels tapped against the tiled floor, she walked confidently, never once breaking her stride. Her attention was focused on a man leaning against the counter, his eyes had not yet reached her face. She gave him a once over, bottling the desire to rip his eyeballs out for his sleazy staring, and instead eyeing his gun, his clothing, his posture. This was the man who was to escort her up to Mr Alessi. He had henchman written all over him.

She did not introduce herself, instead she fixed a seductive smile on her face, and beckoned with one finger. The man smiled, and stepped in time with her as she continued towards the elevators. Once inside, the man slid his key card against the panel and the lift began its ascent. Helena waited, and sure enough they by the 6th floor, her escort made his move. As his hands reached out to grope her chest, she turned suddenly and slammed him against the wall, twisting his arm at an awkward angle behind his back. The man gargled in surprise.

"I am not yours to touch," Helena hissed, her face mere inches from his. "I belong to your boss." _You belong to Myka. _Her brain instantly thought. Helena growled in frustration. "If you lay another finger on me, I will shove both of my heels so far up your vile, repugnant ass that you'll be singing soprano for weeks, do you understand?"

The man didn't answer, so Helena lifted his arm higher up his spine. He cried out in pain.

"I asked you a question."

"Yes," the man gasped out.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Mistress." He groaned, and Helena released his arm and spun him about.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" She asked, using one finger to trail down the side of his face. _Grotesque creature. _Whatever the man was about to respond with was not voiced, because the elevator came to a stop, the doors opened and Helena stepped out into the suite, turning to smirk at the incapacitated fool behind her. Then she walked into the open lounge area, steeling herself and pushing any thoughts about her wife aside.

She was greeted by 5 men, spread out on the expensive sofas. _Just as expected._ They all looked at her with the same interest. The one closest to her got up and searched her, none to gently, before giving a curt nod. He gestured towards the bedroom, and Helena gave him a smile. "Do not disturb us," she said in a low, sultry voice. Then she opened the door and locked it shut behind her.

The bedroom was empty, her mark was apparently in the bathroom, which gave Helena some time to assess her surroundings. The balcony door was already open. _Brilliant._

Then her she turned back to the bathroom door, which opened to reveal Tobias Alessi. He was a tall tanned man, wearing boxers, a dressing gown and socks. Helena kept her personal distaste hidden, instead she opened her mouth and ran her tongue across her upper lip. That seemed to do it, and Tobias looked at Helena expectantly. She took a step forward, slowly unbuttoning her coat. She watched Tobias smile appreciatively as she revealed her attire. Helena had found the skimpiest, sexiest leather outfit she could, and to finish the look, a riding crop at her hip. Tobias moved across the room as Helena pulled her hair free, allowing it to cascade down to her shoulders. He moved as though a man possessed. He wanted to touch.

Helena stopped him, though, with the end of her whip. "Ah ah, no you don't." She murmured, locking her eyes with his. "Kneel."

The man obeyed instantly. _Too easy._

"Now Tobias, you can take off your dressing gown. We won't be needing that, will we?"

"No," the man whispered, shrugging off the material almost frantically.

Helena allowed the end of the whip to trail over the man's bare shoulders. She saw him tense in response.

"Hands behind your back," she bent over and breathed in his ear. Tobias did as he was told. _I could tell him to kill himself and he'd probably do it. _Helena rolled her eyes, taking her handcuffs and securing Tobias' wrists.

"Tell me Tobias, have you been a bad boy?" She watched, and had to stifle a laugh as her dangerous mark knelt before her, hands cuffed, nodding with desperate enthusiasm.

"Yes," Tobias tried to turn his head to look at Helena. She pushed his cheek back with her whip. _Time's up._

"Have you been a bad boy, selling big bad guns to nasty people?"

Tobias flinched in confusion and made a noise like a startled pig, a cry forming on his lips, but before he could scream for help, Helena had one hand over his mouth, another locked against his jaw. In one swift movement, she twisted his neck. There was a sickening crack, and then Tobias Alessi slumped sideways on the floor, dead.

Helena moved quickly, pulling her coat on as one of the guards came and knocked on the bedroom door. They may have been thugs, but they were well accustomed to the sound of a body hitting the deck.

"Mr Alessi? Mr Alessi?"

Helena ignored the sounds of the door handle being tried. Instead, grabbing her handbag and walking towards the balcony.

"Shoot the door!"

Helena concentrated on her task, she took one handle of her purse and hooked it against the metal railings on the balcony. Then as the sound of wood splintering reached her ears, Helena swung her legs over the side of the rails, tightened her grip on the second handle, and stepped off the top of the building.

* * *

Helena reached ground level in 43 seconds. She bent her knees upon hitting the pavement outside the hotel lobby. There were mild cries in shock, as this dark haired beauty appeared from nowhere, but without a second thought, Helena release the her handbag, and slid into her personal car, parked but an arm's length away. Charles pulled out and joined the stream of traffic, as Helena allowed herself to breath, a giddy smile taking over her features. She pulled out her phone.

"It's done." Helena said, leaning back against the plush seat of her chauffeur car that was taking her home. _Home. It was going to be an interesting evening._

"Sweet." Claudia was saying. "And you even did it without drawing _too_ much attention to yourself, although I did just have to intercept a rather frantic phone call to NYPD claiming that they had seen a woman step off the roof of a building. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"You know I would never do anything so dangerous, Claudia." Helena allowed herself to smirk.

"Really H.G? Because among other things, I'm having to eradicate tweets and statuses about a mysterious Spiderwoman dressed in black leather descending from the heavens."

"Miss Donovan, I'm sure you are exaggerating. Besides, that is your job, is it not? To remove all electronic evidence of my existence." Claudia didn't know whether to be happy or not that Helena's playful nature had returned. Killing a man had certainly had improved her mood. "I thought you would approve of my exit strategy. The handbag _unwound_, Miss Donovan, and it is made of this delightful material that manages to both support my body weight and look wonderfully fashionable at the same time, if I do say so myself." Helena was pleased. She looked forward to reporting back to Chaturanga about the success of their gadget.

"H.G, you jumped off a building." Claudia said, exasperated. Sometimes, however, she forgot who she was talking to.

"Yes, yes, I know. But if that's all you are concerned about darling, we can discuss this at a later date. I am rather tired and I am quite looking forward to having a bath. I shall speak to you tomorrow."

"Uh H.G, haven't you forgotten something?"

Helena frowned. _No. I killed the man, job done._

"Your neighbour's get together?" Claudia prompted. "You know, the one Myka agreed to go to even though you didn't want to? You spent most of last week complaining about having to find a dress suitable for such a, and I quote, "unnecessary gathering of suburban Neanderthals"."

Helena groaned, she could hear Claudia snorting down the phone.

"Don't worry, luck for you, I did hack your schedule. Your dress is in the car."

Helena had noticed the clothes cover hanging in the back but hadn't given it much thought. Now she sighed. "It appears I owe you a thank you, Miss Donovan."

"Forget it H.G, just don't be late, party starts in 15." With that, the line went dead.

Helena sat upright, ran a hand though her hair before tapping on the glass to talk to her driver.

"Change of plans, Charles, we have a social gathering to attend."

* * *

Irene Frederic had been sat in the same position behind her desk for an hour now. Her assistant had gone home hours ago, but Mrs Frederic was staying late. She toyed with her glasses chain in an uncharacteristic gesture of uncertainty. In her mind, she was running through hundreds of scenarios, outcomes, possibilities, good and bad. No matter what angle she came at it though, she reached the same conclusion over and over. Mrs &amp; Mrs Bering-Wells made quite a pair. _A dangerous pair_.

It was time to make a phone call.

* * *

**Humdinger: (having a full on conversation here, sorry I had to push your reply to the bottom!) I'm glad the dialog isn't too forced, it's one of the hardest bits to do – making it natural, and also keeping it to character, so it's good to know I haven't screwed it up too much. I'm sure yours was fine too! I'd love to read whatever stuff you have written! Next, yep, I'm going to keep expanding on the ideas about the problems with their marriage. I completely agree with your idea about focusing on kids, and being lost when they are gone. I dare say that's what has happened with my parents. Obviously Bering &amp; Wells don't have children in this fic, but hopefully it's clear that instead it is their professional lives that have taken a toll on their personal ones. As for the stories I'm writing, there is this one, the death one, and yep some others that are in the works. One is an AU for B&amp;W - completely my own stuff, so it's taking longer because I actually have to write a plot myself (ha ha), one is a fic for Rookie Blue, and the last one is a B&amp;W fic but it's on a different profile, I'll link it up at some point. Anyway, here's a massive thanks to you for writing! Really appreciate it (:**


	7. Suburbia

**A/N – I am so, so, ****_so _****sorry for the delay (what's it been? 3 months?) but life has been a bitch, and that is all I want to say about that. **

**So, the much-delayed-and-nowhere-near-worth-the-wait chapter 7 is here! You'll probably read it and wonder what took me so goshdarn long, so apologies on that front. It's short, but hey ho. This chapter is dedicated to those who have pestered me about an update, and encouraged me, and generally showed ****_any _****kind of interest in this fic. Taa to you all xxx**

**Bas – thanks for the words, yep I swapped their scene, I did want to keep things as close to the movie as possible, but some things suited Helena more than others and vice versa, I hope it's not too annoying. I'm not going to lie though, I did also just want to have Helena snap somebody's neck… Myka's assassination scene has been cut, because I got angry whilst writing it. So again, I hope this all still works in the fic! **

The evening was cool and still as Myka sat on the white stone wall at the bottom of her house. It was 19:04pm and she was waiting for Helena. She checked her watch for the 3rd time and sighed. _Relax. _Myka squeezed her eyes shut. _She's barely late. She won't have stood you up. Just breathe. _She knew her wife had not wanted to go to the neighbourhood get-together, and it had crossed her mind that Helena might ring at the last minute, calling with an excuse about working late. Since their somewhat unusual encounter in the morning, Myka had been unfocused. The moment had been brief, trivial, unimportant, but it had thrown Myka off her game. She had no idea what she was feeling, or how to deal with Helena anymore. Her eyes flicked open again a minute later as she heard the familiar purr of Helena's private car and she let out a small sigh in relief. Despite the odd tension between them, she was glad that she wouldn't be turning up alone to the party.

The headlights of the car made Myka squint, she took a few deep breaths to compose herself as it drew up alongside the pavement. The back car door opened and Helena stepped out, pulling a hand through her hair. She was dressed in a tight fitting dark green dress, it clung to her slim figure causing Myka's fingers to tingle and her stomach to churn at the sight. She tried to control the expression on her face as she met her wife's steady gaze.

"Myka," Helena's soft voice seemed to diffuse the situation, before Myka could decipher what was in the air between them.

"Hey," Myka replied, feeling bashful.

"I am sorry I'm a little late, there was a delay in traffic, something about a daredevil jumping off the balcony of one of the hotels in town." Helena said with a playful raise of her eyebrows.

"Oh my God! Are they alright?"

"Oh yes, I dare say they turned out just fine." Helena turned to hide the smugness that was evident on her face. "Shall we?" She offered Myka her arm.

"Of course," Myka said, caught out by the kind gesture. The two of them walked in a surprisingly comfortable silence down the sidewalk. The party they were attending was just a few houses down. Turning up the gravel drive, they made their way to the tall arched doorway of the Moore's residence. Myka turned to face her wife and brushed the stray hair on Helena's shoulders, fingers lingering of their own accord on the smooth skin of Helena's arms. "Ready?" She murmured.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Helena replied, fixing a wide smile on her face.

Myka smiled back, and reached out and pressed the doorbell.

"Neighbours!" The Moores exclaimed in unison as they opened the door for Mrs. &amp; Mrs. Bering-Wells.

"We're _so _glad you could make it! Oh don't you both look divine. Don't they Lenny? Just _divine_. I don't know how you girls do it!" Gina Moore gushed, small-talk spilling needlessly from her pink plumped lips.

"Come in, come!" Leonard Moore joined the chorus. "Helena, you're coming straight with me, the boys are convinced that my laptop isn't up to scratch but I told them, it was the resident tech genius herself who had given me the tip. Come, I'll have you back to your wife in no time, just spin me the winning argument, eh?"

Helena cast a fleeting look towards Myka that seemed to say _'save me'_ before she was whisked off by Lenny.

"Oh Myka, don't look so lost without you other half, come on, the girls are all here, and Julie has her new born! I'm sure you're just _dying_ to hold the beautiful baby boy! Goodness he's growing so fast!"

The rest of the evening passed slowly, Myka spent most of the time nodding aimlessly along with the group of mothers she had found herself stuck with. It had been her idea to attend the neighbourhood parties. They helped her feel normal. They reduced the lie she was living, even if only by a little. But this evening she'd had just about had enough of the social niceties and dull gossip that her acquaintances were divulging in. As if on cue, Julie's husband, Dereck, called over to his wife.

"Over here, Julie, George is asking about the nursery we have lined up for our star boy,"

"One second, sweetie." Julie had her hands full of Harvey, their 5 month old baby. "Oh Myka, could you?"

Myka froze. "Could I what?" She said, mild panic building in her voice.

"Hold Harvey, of course. Just for a minute, I'll be back in a bit." Julie held out the baby, and Myka just stared. Harvey stared back.

"I really shouldn't…I mean I don't..."

"Don't be silly, just hold him, I'll be back in a second." And with that, Julie dumped her child in Myka's lap.

Myka's eyes went wide, and she tentatively put her hands around the podgy waist of the child, making the quick decision to handle this child like she would a grenade. Harvey had dark blue eyes, very little hair and dribble running down the side of his chin. When his small fat fingers reached out towards her curls, and Myka flinched. The group of mothers did not seemed to notice, instead they cooed and sighed at what they believed to be a moment of bonding.

"Oh he likes you, look!" Gina was saying. "Playing with your hair already, isn't he clever?"

Myka could barely hear the rest, and she found her mind reeling. The sooner the child was off her lap, the better. She looked desperately over in the direction that Julie had gone, and instead found her eyes locked with Helena's.

She was stood by the dining room table, standing in a loose circle of suburban men all laughing carelessly in their pastel shirts and sweaters. She had a glass in her hand, and Myka knew without guessing that she was drinking whiskey. She looked relaxed and at ease as she charmed the room. But as their gaze met, Helena's expression shifted. To what, Myka did not know. She had found her wife's eyes, and now she couldn't look away. A jumble of panicked thoughts sped through her brain. _What was Helena thinking? I'm holding a child. We've never talked about children. What if she wants children? Do _I _want children? No. We've never even mentioned it. Where the hell did Julie go? Somebody please take this baby from me._

It was true, though. They had never once had a conversation about having children. They had both managed to avoid the topic completely, as if there was an unspoken rule that forbade the mention of children, or starting a family. Myka had no idea what Helena wanted, or if she wanted it at all. Across the room, Helena stared, her expression unreadable, and then, just like that, she turned, her laugh light and airy as she turned back to whatever the boys were talking about. Myka watched her wife's back, barely noticing when Julie returned and removed Harvey from her lap. Myka watched, and took a gulp of her wine, unable to identify the feelings swirling in her gut. _What just happened?_

"I liked your dress tonight," Helena murmured. They were in their large en-suite bathroom, Myka was wiping the last of her make-up from her face. She paused, glancing in the mirror to look at her wife who was sat on the edge of the bath tub, taking out her earrings.

"Thank you." Myka opened her mouth to say something more, only to find herself blushing instead. In the mirror she watched as Helena dipped her head and left the room.

Trying to ignore the growing feeling of uncertainty brewing inside her, Myka dried her face and made her way back into the bedroom. She settled into bed, lying still for a moment. She felt the need to say something again, say _anything, _but as she tried to form a coherent sentence in her mind, her phone rang. And so did Helena's.

"Oh, sorry I've got to take this," Helena muttered, after reading the caller ID on her screen.

Myka glanced at hers and instantly recognised the number as her agency.

"Me too," she said, hitting the receive button.

_Mrs. Bering-Wells?_

"Yes?"

_We've received a target. DIA prisoner, Benjamin Danz, a.k.a. The Tank. We've been contracted to make sure he doesn't make his transfer. We'll need you in first thing tomorrow for briefing. _

"Of course,"

_You'll be out of the country for a few days, 3 maximum, can you confirm you presence?_

"Yes, no problem,"

_Excellent. Agent Neilson will fill you in at the office. _

"Thanks." Myka said as the line went dead. "Love you too, bye."

"Who was that?" Helena asked.

"My sister," Myka lied. "She wants us to go and visit her,"

"That would be nice, you haven't seen her in a while," Helena's voice was quiet.

"How about you?" Myka asked.

"Oh, just the office. The automatic control systems on the dam I'm working on have come across some problems. They need me to fly out tomorrow. I'll be gone for a few days."

Myka nodded. _Perfect. _"That damned dam," she whispered, rolling onto her side to switch off the bedside lamp.

"Yes," Helena chuckled. "That damned dam."

**More notes: that's all for now, I apologise again for the wait, I lost my rhythm and to be honest I'm not sure I've found it again, but there you go. I cannot tell you when this will be updated again, because I am an awful human being and I keep making promises I cannot keep, so, just stay with me, I'll churn some more out eventually! **


	8. Good Morning, Atlanta

**A/N – Good news? Here's a chapter! Huzzah! Bad news? If you think my updates have been spaced recently, then things are about to get a whole lot worse, my friends. 2****nd****year of university starts in a few weeks and I ****_really_**** have to knuckle down for the sake of my definitely-worth-the-26-grand-and-my-blood-sweat-and-tears degree. **

**Things will slowly move forward, I promise. In the meantime, here's to Bering &amp; Wells, unintentionally screwing up each other's assassinations. What more could you want?**

**_Good Morning, Atlanta. _**

Helena zipped up her suitcase. It had been a normal morning. Normal in the sense that there wasn't any prolonged staring, no awkward flashbacks and most importantly, Helena did _not_ feel the need to drag her estranged wife back into bed to lull them both into a false sense of happiness after her morning run. In fact, she was making her escape early, whilst her wife was still in the shower. Hoisting the suitcase in one hand she looked briefly back at the bathroom door, the sound of running water soothing her ears. She considered knocking on the shaded glass to tell Myka that she was going, but at the last minute thought better of it. _People needed killing._

Down the stairs and out the front door, she made her way into the garage. Putting the suitcase to one side, she knelt on the cold concrete, swiftly and turning the dial on the padlock that covered a steel trap door. The hatch opened and Helena climbed down into her weapons bunker. Bright white strip lights illuminated the length of the bunker, which was essentially a hole in the ground under the garage, but Helena had it equipped with anything and everything she could ever need for her assignments. A bundle of cash, a couple of hand grenades, her favourite hand gun and a few clips of ammo were all thrown into a small black duffle bag. Nodding to herself, she turned to make her way back up the ladder when a large black case caught her eye. Her gaze settled on the box and she smirked. _The R-47 Widowmaker. Why not?_

* * *

Myka was out of the shower and dressing in her usual attire when she heard the sound of Helena's car pulling away from the gravel drive. She felt a little tension ease out of her muscles at the thought of the empty house. She packed her case and headed down to the kitchen, absentmindedly twisting the knobs on the cooker until she heard the familiar click. She pulled the oven door down and watched as a stainless steel box rose up from inside, it mechanically moved out towards her and the compartments unfolded. She eyed her personal weapons collection. _Let's go with simple. _She decided, picking up a gun and selecting one thin, black ceramic knife. She drank the last of her coffee and with practiced ease kicked the oven door back up, closing off the compartments. _Time to go to work._

* * *

"Morning, H.G. I hear there's trouble in Atlanta again," Claudia's voice greeted Helena as she walked into the building.

"What have you got for me, Miss Donovan?" Helena asked.

"Uh, a boarding pass, taxi receipts, hotel bills, all in the folder. You'll need them for your cover."

"Thank you," Helena murmured, taking the file and walking towards her private office.

"Hey, H.G, wait up! How was your little get-together? Did you and the Mrs get drunk and lay down some moves in suburbia?" Claudia baited with a small grin, testing the waters as to how _snappy_ H.G. was feeling today.

_Lay down some moves? _"Miss Donovan,, I don't know what that means, and more importantly, I do _not_ have time for this." She replied, not bothering to look back over her shoulder, hearing Claudia's chuckle drift down the corridor behind her.

Helena straightened her shoulders as she entered her office. One flick of the switch on the underside of her desk and the shutters covering her windows slid across, spotlights on the ceiling automatically replacing the lost daylight. From the middle of her desk 3 large connected screens emerged, a slim keyboard fitting under her fingertips. She hit the enter key and relaxed into her leather chair.

"State your identity." Came the automated command.

"Helena Bering-Wells,"

"Voice recognition accepted. Access granted."

The screen lit up with pale blue light, and a shimmering graphic that resembled Mrs. Frederic stern face appeared on the central monitor.

"Good morning, Atlanta." Helena said.

"Mrs. Bering-Wells," the voice greeted. Helena never knew whether it was actually Mrs. Frederic speaking to her, or whether it was just a computer construction, either way, she supposed, it didn't matter. "Quite the body count this week. We've got a priority 1, and we need your expertise." Helena simply nodded, watching as files began to ping up on the two side screens. "The target's name is Benjamin Danz. He is considered a direct threat to the firm. DIA custody. They are making a ground-to-air handoff to heli, 10 miles north of the Mexican border. You are to make sure the target does not change hands."

The voice continued to relay details, and ground plans and maps appeared on the monitors. Helena smiled, eyeing image of a dirt buggy in the transportation file. _This should be fun._

* * *

Myka walked into the high rise building that contained her offices, making a beeline for the elevators, her heeled boots tapping on the tiled floor. During the ride up she allowed herself to think. This 3 day break was exactly what she needed. What _they _needed. When she got back to Helena, she was going to make an effort. The therapy sessions, although seemingly pointless, had been nagging in the back of her mind. _Maybe it was time to get to know her wife. _Before she could dwell on her decision, the slowing movement of the elevator pulled her back to reality and she turned on her foot. Instead of the front doors opening, the rear panel of the lift slid down revealing a secret corridor behind. Myka stepped into it, positioning herself in the centre of the hall. An automated voiced welcomed her as she was moved along the conveyor belt whilst the identity scanning took place. As the system confirmed her ID, the screen in front of her flickered, and Artie's face appeared.

"Ah, Myka, you're here."

"Of course,"

"Then you'll know that this target is high priority. You know the competition would love to see us burn, so I need you to handle this personally. I need this quick, clean, contained."

Myka nodded. _Her speciality. _

"Pete's inside, he has the specs." And with that the screen went blank. Myka exited the corridor and stepped out into the control room of HQ.

Pete saw her first, a quick grin on his face as he waved her over.

"Hey Mykes, Artie fill you in?"

"Not quite," Myka replied, nodding at the other agents in the room.

"Then let me do the honours." Pete bowed, earning him a smack over the head. "Ouch, okay. I'll get on with it. So, target Benjamin Danz, a.k.a. The Tank." That got a stifled chuckled from most of the agents in the room. "I mean, _The Tank?_" Pete was saying. "What kind of lameo name is that? I can think of street names better than that. And look at this kid-" He gestured at the large screen to a picture of a scrawny looking guy with dark curly hair. "_The Tank? _More like _The VW Beatle, _right?"

Pete turned to Myka for a laugh, only to have green eyes roll at him.

"Alright, alright. Anyway, this little punk is being moved across the border to a federal facility, and the _only_ point of vulnerability is just south of the border. The target will rendezvous with the helicopter, here, at the deserted air strip. We've got one chance to strike."

The screen moved from Mr. Danz's personal file, to a map of the desert.

Myka frowned, considering her options. "Okay. I want GPS and SAC of the canyon. And the weather report for the last 3 days." Myka said.

"You heard the lady, get on it." Pete told the agents in the room, and they went about their business. "So, how are you taking him out?" Pete asked, curiously.

Myka surveyed the maps again. "We'll set a charged perimeter, explosives should do it, minimal contact with the hostiles, there is not enough cover in that desert for close combat."

Pete nodded in agreement. "So we get to blow this guy to kingdom come?" Pete's already in the motion of acting out the assassination, an imaginary bomb in his hands. "Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!" He threw his arms around, mimicking the sounds of an explosion.

Myka's frowned impatiently. "Pete, I don't know what that means."

"It's Die Hard, Mykes! Bruce Willis, lots of guns, Christmas with the psychopathic Hans Gruber? How can you _not_ know what that means?" Myka's blank expression said it all, and Pete let out an exasperated sigh. "You need to get out more."

* * *

**_Operation, Day 2. 10 miles north of the Mexican border._**

Pete hadn't really shut up, from the moment Myka had left the office, during her flight, during her transfer, and now, as she stood on the platform outside a small abandoned shack on the only rocky outcrop there was in the godforsaken desert. Through her military-spec binoculars she watch the convoy containing her target drive into sight, whilst her partner nattered on in her ear.

"Pete?" she cut in, as he was halfway through a running explanation about the MC Universe, whatever the hell that was.

"Yes, Mykes?" She knew he was rambling, mostly to hide the fact that he had wanted to go with her on the mission. He was bored out of his mind back at base, and was a little upset that Myka had turned down his offer for ground support. "Are we green?"

Myka had ducked back inside the shack, hitting several keys on the black-box screens that were set up. The small green light on the side of the unit blinked back at her.

"Perimeter is armed, we are up and running." Myka confirmed.

"Rodger that," Pete said, thankfully turning his attention back to their Op.

Myka sighed, enjoying the moment of silence before it was rudely interrupted by the growling noise of an engine. _What the hell? _She turned to look out from the vantage point that she had. Through her binoculars she saw a cloud of dust trailing behind what looked like a dirt buggy. "Oh, come on." Myka groaned, quickly scanning back to check on the position of the target. "Pete, are you getting this?"

"Yeah, Myka. Is that a dirt buggy? Lucky asshole. Do you think I could get one?"

"Not relevant, Pete!"

"Sorry." She could imagine Pete wincing. "Do you think it's a threat?"

Myka swung her vision back round, watching as the buggy span its back wheels, twisting its way through the sand.

"Wait!" Pete's frantic voice called out in her ear. "Countdown initiated! The convoy isn't in the zone yet!"

Myka rolled her eyes in frustration. The buggy must have hit one of the check points. Lifting her sunglasses up, she walked back over to the monitors. "The idiot in the field is going to blow all the charges," she huffed, yanking on the wires to stop the countdown and reset the system. _Crap._

Crisis temporarily averted, she turned her attention back to the intruder. They had parked behind some abandoned scrap metal and Myka's line of sight was unclear. "Civilians," she muttered. Tracking the body as it rounded the buggy and into her line of sight. Before she could get a good look at the perpetrator, Pete spoke up.

"Mykes! We're picking up a weapon signature!"

_Shit! _Myka took a breath, as her binoculars locked in and confirmed what Pete was urgently relaying in her ear. The so-called idiot had a heavy power R-47 Widowmaker. _A rocket launcher?!_

"Not a civilian, Pete!" Myka exclaimed and swapped her binoculars for a KTR-03S rifle. Inhaling a steadying breath, she took aim down the sight. "Asshole." She whispered and she gently squeezed the trigger.

* * *

The shot rang out across the desert, and Helena jerked backwards letting out a cry of pain, hitting the ground with a thud. _I've been shot!? _The bullet had ripped straight into her chest, luckily protected by her vest. She had no time for confusion though, as she propped herself up and glared in the direction of the shooter. _A third party. _She mused. "Well then, let's see if we can't get a tune out of this trombone." Hauling herself to her feet, she lifted the Widowmaker onto her shoulder, gleefully taking aim though the scope at the single heat signature on the rocks above her. Then, she fired a shot, watching as the shack was blown to bits seconds later. "You should _not_ be allowed to buy these things," she chuckled, a grim smile of satisfaction on her face. Helena turned then in the direction of the convoy that was closing in, vaguely considering what she could do with the extra day she had free, when an explosion rocked the ground, followed by several more. She hit the floor again, curling into a protective foetal position, as she counted 16 charges exploding around her. _That damned third party!_

Eventually the dust settled, and Helena picked herself up, watching helplessly as the convoy retreated out of rocket-launching range. To the east, she saw the meddling third party disappearing into the distance on a dirt bike. _Well this just got interesting. _From left of her chest, exactly above where her heart was, she pulled a spent gold bullet from her vest. Pocketing the evidence she narrowed her eyes, and went to put the Widowmaker back into the dirt buggy before going to inspect the scene. A charred laptop was all she could salvage from the wreckage, and she packed that into the buggy too. Time to visit Miss Donovan.


	9. The Bogey

**A/N – Do Americans have Weetabix? Is that a thing over there? Who knows, unless someone tells me otherwise, you'll just have to accept it as British nuance. **

**_Somewhere in New York, Miss Donovan's residence._**

Helena stood outside a block of rundown flats, finger pressing impatiently on a worn bell that was buzzing out a low ugly sound. Her mind was frantically going over the details of the last 12 hours. She hadn't slept and she hadn't eaten, she _really _wanted to have a bath, but first she needed her computer-tech genius to look at the laptop. She let go of the buzzer. There was no reply. She buzzed again. And again._ Answer the door, Claudia. _At the forth buzz, she gave up hope and was picking the lock when a voice, half asleep, grumbled through the speaker.

"Who the hell is this, and what the hell do you want?"

"Claudia? It's Helena, I need your brain."

"You need my what?" But even as Claudia was replying, H.G was coming through the gated door.

"I'll be up in a second,"

"You'll be-" Claudia's voice was more alert now. "Wait, H.G. I haven't buzzed you in! H.G? Damnnit!"

Helena was at Claudia's door and had begun her knock-repeat routine when Claudia pulled it open with a rather dramatic sigh. "H.G. To what do I owe the pleasure?" She asked dryly.

"Laptop," was all Helena said, pushing a charred plastic lump into her friend's hands.

"I'm not following your train of thought here, H.G." Claudia said, eyeing Helena warily. The older agent looked fried, she matched her plastic counter-part in that respect. "You've got that 'woman on a mission' face on and you know I can't talk to you when-"

"Laptop." Helena interrupted, not waiting to be asked inside. She walked around Claudia, heading straight for the only thing in the apartment that wasn't covered in circuits and pieces of tech – the fridge.

Claudia sighed again, shutting the door behind her as she walked over to her desk, sorting through the wires to find the leads she'd need for her impromptu hack. "Jesus," she let out a whistle as she turned the laptop monitor over. "What did you do to this? Put out a campfire with it?" She got no reply from Helena, who was pouring herself cereal, of all things. "Might as well buy a new one." She muttered to herself.

"I'm afraid I can do no such thing. This one has a certain sentimental value for its owner," Helena returned, pulling a stool out to sit on as she crunched on what Claudia assumed was her stale Weetabix.

"And who is that exactly?" Claudia raised a curious eyebrow in Helena's direction as she connected the laptop to her own system.

"Well, Miss Donovan, I was hoping you could tell me." Helena put the bowl down and rested an elbow on the work surface, shutting her eyes to think for a minute.

"Why you gotta know so bad that you're banging on my door at this time in the morning?" Helena had barely paid attention to the part where Claudia was still in her pyjamas, hair sticking out at angles that only sleep could inflict. "Wait," Claudia paused. "Tell me this isn't to do with the bogey who screwed with yesterday's Op.?"

Helena at least had the decency to look sheepish.

"H.G. we're running through everything in the debriefing this afternoon." Claudia groaned. "You couldn't have waited until then?"

"No, Claudia, I couldn't. I think I got made," Helena was fidgeting. _Since when did H.G. fidget? _Claudia watched for a second as her partner's fingers twisted the spent shell of a gold bullet over and over. "Have you ever been ID'd on a hit? Trouble. That's what this is."

Claudia didn't bother replying. Helena's brain was working at a speed that Claudia's couldn't at this time in the morning, so she turned back to the thing she _could _crack. The computer. The room grew silent, besides the tapping of keys.

"Did you at least get a look at him?" Claudia eventually asked.

Helena nodded. "Slim thing, a lot of leg. Quick and precise, too." She muttered.

Claudia just carried on tinkering.

"I'm not even sure it was a 'him'." Helena said quietly.

That got the tech's attention. "You saying you got your ass handed to you by another girl?" Claudia snorted. She could only imagine how that must be pissing Helena off. Pissing her off, and simultaneously tugging at her insatiable curiosity to no end. It was no wonder she had been roused so early.

"I think so," Helena was frowning. "A professional, definitely."

"Well, it can't be too hard to track her down, right? I mean, besides you, there aren't that many female hitters out there. Not ones with skill, anyway." Claudia mused. "Right, here we go." Breakthrough.

Helena looked over. "What have we got, Miss Donovan?"

"Upgraded RAM module. The chip is Chinese. Imported by Dynamix, uh…"

Claudia tapped again, scrolling though the code on the screen until it gave up the answers. "Ah, here, I've got you a billing address. No name, but an address." Claudia pointed at the screen. "570 Lexington Avenue, Suite 5003. New York." Claudia frowned. "You know the place?"

Helena didn't hear her, or at least she couldn't fathom a reply anyhow. _570 Lexington Avenue. _She frowned. It had to be a coincident. _That was Myka's building._

* * *

**_Meanwhile… 570 Lexington Avenue, Suite 5003. _**

"Somebody get me the tape of that goddamn idiot," Myka growled. She had barely escaped the shack with her life after her unknown assailant had fired a rocket at her. _A rocket! _Her shoulder was still bleeding where a shard of wood had pierced her skin via the force of the blast. She had an agent trailing around after her clutching gauze, antibacterial wipes and bandages but she hadn't stopped moving since she had made it back to New York.

"Myka," Pete's tone of voice suggested that he was trying to reason with her, and right now she didn't have time for it.

"I want that tape, and I want all resources redirected into finding this son of a bitch."

_A rocket! The asshole had the audacity to screw up her perfectly planned operation, and then fire an honest to goodness rocket at her!_

"Myka_!_"

"What?" She snapped.

Pete recoiled at the venom in his her voice, and his face took the expression of a wounded puppy, but he soldiered on anyway, handing her a phone. "It's the boss."

Myka stopped suddenly. Frustration causing her to clench her fists. She exhaled a puff of air before putting the phone to her ear.

"The FBI secured the package. The window's closed, sir." Her voice was controlled and steady compared to the anger boiling inside her.

"Sir?" At the other end of the line, Artie gave a mirthless chuckle. "You only call me 'sir' when you know you've messed up. I told you we couldn't afford mistakes on this one, _Mrs. Bering-Wells."_

"There was another player," Myka replied through her teeth.

"We do not leave witnesses, Myka. If this 'other player' ID'd you… You know the rules. You have 48 hours to clear the scene."

"Looking forward to it." Myka replied, voice low and dangerous. She cut off the call, handing the cell back to Pete.

"Okay?" Her partner asked.

Myka nodded. "We have a new target."

Pete didn't push further, instead he turned to address the room slightly flustered agents. "Alright guys. Get the tape up on the main screen, I want you going over it frame by frame. You think for a second that you've got a lead, holla at us. And somebody get on the dirt buggy. See if we can track the player through the vehicle."

_I doubt it. _Myka thought. Despite the destructive nature of their new target, whoever it was, they were professional. She didn't think they'd be traceable through the dirt buggy. _Which leaves the tape. _

"Abigail, Jane, you're with me. Bring the footage up on my screen." She said in a curt voice. There was no way she was letting this one get away.

* * *

Helena had surveyed _570 Lexington Avenue_ for 10 minutes, watching people stream in and out of the building before deeming it safe to go in. Through the glass double doors and into a large foyer she glanced around, trained eyes drinking in the details. The staff working in the building needed a pass, it seemed, to access the elevators. She noted the security cameras, the exits, the reception, and the number of staff manning the floor, filing the information away in case she needed it later. With a final check, she then moved over to her far left where a large board made of horizontal slats dominated the wall. Each line denoted the companies and offices on a corresponding floor. Her eyes scanned the board, until they fell upon the words _Suite 5003. _Then she traced back along to find the name.

The title _Myka Bering-Wells _stared back at her and Helena exhaled a sharp breath. _No. This couldn't be. _She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again, and stared at the plaque. _NEILSON CORP. - Myka Bering-Wells, CEO – Suite 5003. _

"Fucking bollocks." She swore.

* * *

Myka sighed as the clip on her monitor looped back to play the 17 seconds of footage she had captured. Back to the start. The person exits the buggy, whole body obscured, only the top of the target's hair is visible. Dark hair by the looks of it. _Hair. _Something clicked in her brain and she froze the frame, and rewound 3 seconds, a wiggling feeling of dread in her stomach. A telephone was ringing in the distance, but Myka paid no attention to it. Not when their assailant was raking a hand through her hair as she stepped out of the buggy. _Her hair. _The action was so familiar that Myka forgot for a moment that she needed to breathe. _Helena._ How many times had she seen Helena step out of the car and do the exact same thing? Rake her stupid delicate hands through her stupid glossy hair.

"Hey Mykes?"

Myka snapped out of her daze, trying to keep the realisation out of her features.

"It's your wife," Pete said, completely oblivious. _My wife. It's my wife. _"She's on the phone, says she's back in the country and wants to know about dinner tonight."

Myka tried to gather her thoughts. "Tell her," Myka paused. _This was not a good idea. _"Tell her dinner's at 7pm."

* * *

In the foyer 50 feet below, Helena grimaced as Pete relayed the message. _Dinner at 7pm_. "It always is." She replied.


	10. Dinner

**A/N - I'm pumpin' stoked about this chapter, because they've finally figured each other out (lawd I know, it's been a long time coming) and so, without further delay, I give you, ****_The Tense And Kinda Sexy But Also Incredibly Dangerous Dinner Scene Where The Bering-Wellses Size Each Other Up In More Ways Than One. _**

**_The Bering-Wells Residence, 18:59pm._**

Helena slowed the car to crawling pace as she pulled into the driveway. The sun had long since gone down, and the house was basked in the eerie light of the street lamps. _Mood lighting indeed. _Helena chuckled to herself, but the sound was hollow and her palms tingled and she tried not to panic at the realisation that she was nervous. _Nervous. _Helena hadn't been quite this nervous in years. In fact, she knew exactly when the last time she'd last had the delight of sweaty tingly palms. 6 years ago. 6 years ago when she had decided to propose to Myka. 6 years ago when she had held her breath waiting for the answer. Waiting for the _yes_.

Helena shook herself, now was not the time to get emotional, not when she was walking into the lion's den. Myka usually finished work and was home by 18.15pm. Which mean she had the upper hand. Helena had no idea what she was walking in to. She parked in the garage and opened the glove box and took out her wedding ring. She snorted at the irony of the situation and slid the gold band onto her finger.

Out of the car, round the path and up to the front door, Helena kept her eyes trained on the house. She quietly opened the door, and with her body on autopilot whilst her mind worked overtime, she shrugged off her coat and hung her keys up.

"Perfect timing," Myka's voice surprised Helena as she rounded the hall and came upon her wife, holding two cocktail glasses. Her hair was pulled up in an elegant bun, stray curls framing her exquisite cheek bones. Her eyes, which Helena would have usually described as bright and curious were now dark and cutting, her stare was a challenge. Helena decided on the spot that the heightened risk of peril made her wife inexplicably more attractive. If she were not fearing for her life right now, she'd have given in to the desire to push the taller woman back against the wall and ravish her. Instead, she smiled, a predatory smile, slipping her own mask into place.

"Thank you," she said, accepting the drink that was being held out towards her. She looked over her wife's shoulder at the perfectly set dinner table. "This is a nice surprise."

Myka stepped closer into her personal space. "I hope so." She said, her breath whispering along Helena's exposed collarbone, causing an inappropriate twinge to pull at her stomach. Helena steeled herself. _You are _not_ getting turned on by this._

"You're home early." Myka commented, her tone airy as though commenting on the weather, and not indirectly referring to a botched assassination.

"I missed you." Helena said.

"Mhm," Myka still hadn't moved, the two of them mere inches from each other's face. "I missed you, too." She replied. "Shall we?"

"Yes."

Myka turned her back and walked through the arch into their dining room. As she went, Helena took a quick inconspicuous whiff of her drink, before deciding not to risk it. _Perhaps poison is her style. _She tipped the liquid into one of the plant pots beside the archway and followed her wife round to her end of the table.

"What are we having?"

"Roast,"

"My favourite,"

"Of course,"

Their conversation couldn't have been more false or irrelevant if they had tried. It was a trifling exchange of words, nothing more. The real conversation was happening between their intense gazes, like now, for instance. Myka pulled out the chair and stood straight behind it, nodding at Helena to take a seat.

Helena hesitated, just for a split second, wondering if perhaps a sharp knife to her jugular would be the imminent cause of her demise. Myka noticed her pause, and for a moment, she looked vaguely amused, eyebrow raising in an unspoken question. _Do you take me for a cutthroat? _Helena only smiled in return, deciding she was not going to be murdered at the dinner table. If she knew her wife at all, she was safe for the time being - Myka would not be so uncivilised as to get blood on the furniture.

So Helena sat, placing the emptied cocktail glass on the smooth wooden surface. Then she watched with a slight quirk of a smile when Myka made a show of plucking a leftover olive from inside the glass, and popping it in-between her stained lips. _Not poisoned, then. _She mused, as Myka excused herself to get the food. The moment she left, Helena did a quick sweep of the room, cursing as she realised that in her hurry to get inside, she had left her gun in the pocket of her coat hanging by the door. Upon hearing Myka's return, she sat back down, picking up on of the sharper looking silver knives laid out beside her plate and sliding it inside her waist jacket in a smooth motion. The weight of the weapon, if you could call it that, gave her a marginal sense of comfort.

Myka came in carrying the meat, and set it down on the table, and from under her apron, pulled out a large carving knife. It slipped out with a slick hiss and Helena couldn't help the flutter of her nerves. She quickly rose from where she was sat, and came round the side of her wife.

"Allow me, darling," she murmured into Myka's ear, placing her hand over Myka's to steady the blade. "You cooked, let me serve."

Myka turned to Helena, a playful smile about her lips. She hadn't bought the flimsy excuse for a second, but she didn't say anything of it, offering a thank you instead. Helena watched her warily as she then walked to the other side of the table. Myka waited until Helena's attention was solely on her, before reaching into her waist apron to pull out another knife. _A bigger knife._ With a superior smile, Myka deftly sliced up the loaf of bread before her, placing the knife down alongside her plate.

Helena dished up the chicken, and sat back down, making sure to put the carving knife in easy reach.

"How was work?" She asked.

For the first time in that evening, she saw Myka hesitate. Planning carefully what to say next.

"Actually, there was a little trouble with the commission," Myka let out, the barest hint of annoyance leaking into her voice.

"Oh yes?" Helena asked, unable to control the slight upward infliction in her own voice.

Myka latched onto her gaze, a tight smile in place. "Yes. A double booking with another firm. Green beans?"

_Green beans? _Helena had lost her earlier appetite. "No, thank you."

"You'll have some," Myka replied, mouth set in a tight line.

Helena felt the temperature in the room drop a few more degrees, whilst the beat of her heart increased a touch. Maybe she wouldn't make it through dinner, after all.

"Well," she eventually said, flexing her grip on the fork she held in her fingers. "I hope everything works out alright."

Myka smoothed down her dress. "It hasn't yet." She replied, locking eyes with her wife. "But it will." With that, she took a seat at the opposite end of the table. Helena could practically feel the tension crackling between them.

They watched each other from opposite ends. Helena's eyes never once breaking the gaze as she cut a piece of chicken. Truth be told, she had never really liked Myka's cooking. She didn't hold it against her wife, after all, it wasn't like she had ever had time to perfect it herself. So as she put the chicken in her mouth, she tried a smile.

"Did you try something new?" Ignoring the way her tongue tingled and how her jaw was working more than it should have to.

"Mhm," Myka nodded, chewing slowly, fork lingering in her mouth.

"It's delicious," Helena forced a smile, and swallowed loudly.

Myka's returning smile was dangerous. "How about your trip? How was it?"

Helena accepted the challenge. "Actually, we had a few problems ourselves. Some things just didn't add up."

"Troublesome,"

"Indeed,"

"Well, I'm sure you'll find a solution,"

"Of course," Helena put down her cutlery. "Wine?"

"Yes, thank you." Myka replied, watching Helena as she stood and came up the side of table, bottle in hand. Helena reached over and poured the dark red liquid in a confident motion.

Then, she decided, it was time to throw the façade.

She dropped the bottle.

It seemed to fall in slow motion and she watched the flicker of reactions play across her wife's face. Myka never once looked away from Helena as the bottle fell. But then, all her fears were confirmed, because the bottle never hit the floor. Myka caught it, with unnatural reflexes and a firm grasp, her eyes not once leaving her wife's. She held it in her hand for a second, long enough for both of them to realise the game had changed, and then she let it go. The glass slipping through her fingers, deathly red wine spilling onto the pristine white rug.

Both of them moved in a blur.

"I'll get it!" Helena rushed, moving backwards out into the hallway and away from the kitchen at the same time as Myka moved in the direction of the kitchen saying "I'll get a towel!"

Helena made a beeline for her study along the ground floor. _Shit shit shit. _She'd been holding out, clinging to the last morsel of hope. Hoping that this was all a mistake, that she was wrong, that Myka wasn't the shooter. _All this time. Everything has been a lie._ She threw open the door to her study, slid up a secret panel on the 3rd shelf of her bookcase and pulled out a hidden hand gun. 2 spare clips were shoved into her pockets, then with a grimace, she screwed the silencer onto the muzzle. Feeling more comfortable with the gun in her hand, she moved out of her study, weapon first.

"Darling?" She called, clearing the hall, the living room and then the dining room. Myka was nowhere in sight. She was scoping the kitchen when she hear the roar of an engine and the kick back of gravel on the drive. Headlights swung across the kitchen window and Helena swore. Grabbing her coat off the hook beside the front door she wrenched the handle open and began her pursuit. _Bollocks! I hate running. _An endless stream of curses blew through her mind. She watched as the tail lights of Myka's car disappeared down their road. _Cross country it is. _She swerved off the footpath, taking a shortcut through the back of her neighbours' gardens. If she was lucky, she would be able to cut Myka off as she hit the main road. Bright lights caught her attention over to her left, and Helena growled in determination. She cut through the last garden that would bring her out in front of Myka. _Almost there. _Helena thought, although she had no idea what she would do when she came face to face with her newly discovered assassin-of-a-wife. She was preoccupied with deciding how best to open the conversation when she tripped and hit the fence with her right hand. Her gun hand. _Fuck. _

The gun fired. The soft thwap of the discharge was enough to put fear into her heart, but it was nothing, though, in comparison to the sound the bullet hitting glass and the screeching of breaks. _Fuck fucking bollocks. _Helena vaulted the white picket fence and walked out into the road, breathing a sigh of relief when she realise Myka was alive. Alive and looking _incredibly_ pissed.

Myka's perfect eyebrows were drawn in an impressive line of anger, her hands flexed on the steering wheel. In the dark in the middle of the street, Helena saw a storm brewing inside the car. She flinched, then, when the Myka spat out the words, "_Did you_ _just shoot me?!_"

**A/N – Finally, right? Disclaimer – most of their conversation was taken straight from the film, sorry for that, I own nothing blahdeeblah. **

**Also, Helena has ****_always_**** know it was 6 years they'd been married for, she just likes to say 5 because it pisses Myka-I've-got-a-eidetic-memory-Bering-Wells off to no end, and that makes Helena-I-get-off-on-irritating-my-perfect-wife-Bering-Wells childishly amused. **


	11. Assassin-of-a-wife

"_Did you_ _just shoot me?!_"

* * *

_Oh bollocks. _"No, oh no. Myka, darling. That was an accident." The engine revved and Helena put her hands up in surrender. "An accident!" She called out again. "Come on, Myka. We can just stop for a second and talk about this. Myka? _Myka?_"

That was the last coherent thought that went through Helena's brain, because the next thing she knew, Myka was accelerating towards.

Helena was shouting something vaguely exclamatory and apologetic when it occurred to her that her wife was not going to stop, and with milliseconds to spare, she threw herself sideways, tucking her body into a neat roll out of harm's way. She felt a whip of air ruffle her body as the car passed her by, her heart beating loudly beneath her ribs and breathed out a heavy sigh when it appeared that Myka was not coming back. She picked herself up brushed down her sides, the tail lights of Myka's car burning into her eyes. She sighed again, considering the options she had now. She knew where Myka was headed. There was only one place her wife would go, only one person she trusted, but Helena would not risk going to Pete's, unarmed and underprepared. She desperately needed to talk to Myka, or perhaps she just needed to get this over with – eliminate the target – but either way, it would wait until morning. Claudia was about to get another rude interruption, she mused.

* * *

Myka slammed her fist against the metal mesh in front of her, taking out her mess of emotions of the unsuspecting door.

"Pete? Open up!" She yelled, throwing out her usual polite concern for her partner's neighbours. She rattled the gate again, only stopping when she heard a muffled _alright, alright! _coming from inside.

Pete's face eventually appeared, shadowy in the glow of the street lights. He was in his boxers and a college football shirt, looking half asleep. "What the hell, Mykes? Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"It's Helena."

Pete rolled his eyes. "Did you guys have a domestic? Seriously, sometimes I wonder why you're still-"

"She's the shooter."

There was silence as Pete opened and closed his mouth, a fish out of water.

"That's not possible."

"Yes, trust me, it is."

"But you're married-"

"Yes."

"And she's the one-"

"Yes."

"But that means-"

"I know."

"But this whole time you've been together, she's been-"

"Yes."

"So you've got to-"

"Yes." Myka sighed, resisting the urge to push a hand though her hair. The thought of that gesture bringing up unwanted feelings about her wife. _My assassin-of-a-wife. _"May I come in?"

Pete nodded, stepping aside to let her pass. He snuck a cautious glance up and down the street before shutting the door and locking it shut. _No sleep for me tonight. _

* * *

Claudia was still awake, to Helena's initial surprise. Awake and expecting her.

The flat door was unlocked, and when Helena waltzed in, Claudia barely looked up from her laptop screen, instead muttering a terse, "I wondered when you'd show up."

Helena frowned. "You knew?"

Claudia shrugged. "You flew out of here this morning like someone had stuck a rod up your you-know-what," Helena opened her mouth to object to her young partner's choice of language, but Claudia was already moving on. "So I tracked your cell and ran crosschecks on the address I pulled against your known associates, and lo and behold, who should come up but your lovely wife?"

Helena flinched.

"So, when you showed up at her work place, I tapped into your calls." Claudia said, unapologetic. "Quite the dinner, I expect?"

Helena couldn't help the small proud smile on her face. She couldn't be annoyed at Claudia for her invasion of privacy, when she was impressed. "You have no idea."

Claudia just nodded, finally turning and looking over at her friend. They watched each other for a few seconds before Helena finally spoke.

"Have you informed anyone of the shooter's true identity?"

There was silence for a beat, before Claudia scoffed. "No. You've still got, what, just over 36 of your allotted hours before the agency steps in? I don't see any reason to report it until then."

The red-head avoided Helena's eyes, but the older agent knew the risk her tech genius was taking in _not _telling Mrs. Frederic and the powers above straight away, and felt a surge of affection for the girl. "Thank you." She murmured, her voice conveying her gratitude.

Claudia shrugged again, turning back to the laptop. "You'd do the same. Well, I hope you would if you found out that my imaginary wife was actually a contract killer out to kill _me._"

Helena barked out a hollow laugh.

"D'you know where she is now? I don't want her turning up on my doorstep fully loaded."

"She'll have gone to Pete, I'm sure. And if she's half the agent I think she is, she won't do anything until tomorrow. Goodness, if she's anything at all like the Myka I married, there'll be an entire strategy to enforce before she comes after me personally."

"Then you'll take the fight to her? I only ask, because you when I say the agency will step in, that's just a nice way of saying you're toast if they catch you once your window's up."

Helena squeezed her eyes shut as Claudia confirmed what she already knew.

"I guess I must, as you put it, _take the fight to her_."

Claudia gave her a sympathetic smile. "You wanna, uh- talk about this?" She tried.

Helena laughed then, a true laugh. "No dear, it's alright. I'll spare you the inner workings of my conscience." Claudia visibly relaxed. "I take it you have a little more information about my dearest wife than I have, though?"

Claudia swung about on her chair, back to business. "Not a lot, your _wife_ is a ghost."

_Much like me. _Helena thought, crossing over to where Claudia had pulled up several case files onto her expanse of monitors.

"After I realised it was Myka, I ran a programme to search through hits dating back 10 years, cross referencing techniques, associates, locations etc. It's not a lot, hell, I can't even be sure that half of these hits are hers, but you can take a look, maybe you'll know better." Claudia gestured to the screens. "I'm going to go to bed, unless you need anything else? You can fill me in on whatever spontaneous action plan you come up with in the morning."

Claudia might have said more, but Helena had already tuned out. Her eyes flickering over the computer, absorbing newspaper reports, classified files, times, dates, kills, operations, set-ups, framings, murders, accidents_. _Claudia had done an excellent job in finding all these files. Files that all _screamed _Myka. Helena sighed and settled down in the abandoned chair. Selecting the first file, code name: _Bloodstone, _she began to read.

* * *

Morning came far too soon for Myka's liking. She was stretched out front first on Pete's couch. Her friend had eventually gone to bed, but only after giving Myka a shotgun to keep under her blanket, and after voicing every fear and worry that Myka had encountered after discovering that Helena was her hit. Myka had spent the night replaying every moment she had spent with her wife, trying to see though the lies, wondering if any of it had been real. _It doesn't matter now. _She thought. _She's just another problem that needs to be dealt with. _She sighed, and wriggled out of the blanket, wincing as her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor. First port of call was caffeine. She had barely slept what with her mind working in overdrive, and she doubted there would be time to rest today.

With two steaming mugs in hand, she went and nudged Pete's door open, finding her partner passed out in a bundle of duvet, gun gripped in hand. She put one cup down, eased the gun out of his right hand, and nudged him with it.

"Pete?"

An unintelligible grumble came from the pillow.

"Pete?" Myka tried again, shaking him this time.

"What do you-" Pete didn't finish the sentence, instead suddenly coming-to all at once, arms flailing as he scrambled backwards. "Holy crap, Myka! Do _not_ wake me up like that! I thought you were Helena. I could have shot you!"

Myka snorted and held up his gun. "With this weapon? The one I'm holding?"

Pete sighed. "Whatever. You're not allowed to give me a premature heart attack. I'm the only person in the world who gets your situation, remember?"

Myka rolled her eyes. "Stop being so dramatic." She said, handing him a mug of coffee and getting a nod of thanks in return. "And hurry up and get dressed. We've got just under 24 hours and counting to sort this mess out, and I'd rather you were wearing clothes for it."

"Alright, so what's the plan, boss-lady?"

Myka swallowed a mouthful of coffee, letting the hot bitter liquid calm her stomach. "We pack up, call in for some back up to canvas the house, take it to pieces." Myka ignored the heavy beat of her heart. "We got a new target."

She'd pulled Pete half dressed, out of his flat with the promise of pastries at the weekend, and had called Jane and Abigail to bring the equipment she needed to clear the scene. By 9am they were at the house. It looked exactly as it always did. Oversized for just the two of them, with a detached air about it. There was no sign of Helena, but then Myka had not expected to find her here. They swept the house, shredding, bin bagging, burning all evidence of Myka's existence, and collecting any evidence of Helena's. She realised, as she and her partners traipsed through her house, that neither her nor her wife had many personal belongings. No photos, besides the two of them on their wedding day and honeymoon. No knick-knacks, souvenirs, artifacts of any kind. The only thing Helena had of her own were a few battered books, classic sci-fi novels. _Dune by Frank Herbert. _She must have seen Helena reading it a dozen times, feet curled under her legs, glasses on her nose. She shook that image from her mind with a quick blink of her eyes as Pete came out of their bedroom, a bin bag in one hand and a giant stuffed teddy in the other.

"What's the verdict on this guy?" He asked, wiggling the pudgy teddy arms out towards her. "Are we keeping this cutie?"

Myka swallowed the lump in her throat as another flashback hit her._ Walking along the festival streets, Helena's arm around her waist, kissing Helena's neck, Helena's smug smile at the shooting stall, Helena handing her the teddy, the desire on Helena's face when Myka whispered 'you are mine'. _

"Mykes?"

"Hmm?" Myka lifted her eyes to look at Pete.

"Are we binning him? Shredding him? Maybe there's a hidden camera in here somewhere…"

As Pete began manhandling the toy, Myka bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from telling him to lay off.

"Bin it." She said eventually, and then, before Pete could question the flush rising up her throat or the slight redness in her eyes, she brushed past him towards the stairs.

The rest of the house littered with more bags, Jane and Abigail having covered the ground floor. She gave them a curt nod, and then fled the house. The fresh air hit her lungs and she took a steadying breath, trying to remind herself that this was just another job, nothing to panic over. She would give Helena the ultimatum. Leave town and disappear, or be dealt with, permanently.


	12. Ultimatum

**A/N – hello fellas, thanks for the kindest reviews, y'all are too nice for words. Sorry about the delay. I'm sort of slowly filling in a Claudia/Helena backstory, but it'll be gradual and alongside the main plot.**

"This is a shit idea."

"Don't be so crude."

"This is a pants idea."

"Claudia!"

"Fine," Claudia huffed over the earpiece. "This idea is of a risky and rather questionable nature."

"Better." Helena replied, her voice echoing even as she whispered. She was on her stomach crawling through the ventilation system in Myka's building. She was sweating lightly, and there was a crick in her neck where she'd been craning it upwards at an uncomfortable angle. This was definitely a _pants_ idea, but Claudia didn't need to know that.

After scoping out the house mid-morning, she had discovered that Myka and her team had already been in and ransacked the place, taking everything. Everything, including, to Helena's dismay, the contents of her personal arsenal in the bunker under the garage. The loss of her stash hadn't gone down well, and so she'd (perhaps rather recklessly) decided to get payback – by breaching Myka's headquarters.

She reached a junction in the ventilation shaft and stretched her arms out, trying to ease the ache in her muscles. "Which way, Miss Donovan?"

In the safety of her apartment across town, Claudia examined the blueprints on screen. "You're right on top of them, H.G. Fancy dropping in?"

Myka felt uncomfortable, to say the least, with parts of her life strewn across the floor in headquarters, but she pushed aside the feeling in favour of her usual determination to get the job done. Pete meanwhile had volunteered himself to go and talk to Artie and fill him in on the situation and she couldn't have been more grateful. She didn't need Artie's dark eyes reading into her every move, not when she didn't understand her own emotions. In the familiar surroundings of HQ she worked instead on profiling, re-evaluating their target.

"Jane, where are we with the database?" Myka asked, frustrated with the lack of progress.

"We're searching though hits now, cross referencing any information we've gleaned from the house, but we're getting nothing. Whoever your wife is working for – they're good at covering their tracks. Any leads we get just turn up dead ends."

Myka grimaced. _Claudia. _She'd met the young red head some years ago, she'd been one of the only people Helena had invited to their wedding.

_"__Myka darling, this is Claudia, our technical genius. You'd do your best to keep an eye on her – her future is sure to be glorious." Helena had introduced them before the ceremony, a strong arm slung around the girl's shoulders. _

_Myka smiled at the girl, who couldn't have been much more than a teenager - scruffy clothes, challenging eyeliner, hostile body language. She looked at the girl, and frowned, because she'd never seen Helena so protective over anyone before. _

_"__It's nice to meet you," Myka said._

_"__You too," Claudia replied, only a hint of attitude in her voice. _

Myka remembered the exchange because Claudia had been smart, quick and defensive. She remembered because she had _liked_ Claudia. She had never learned the reason why Helena had taken the kid under her wing.. _And now she's an accessory to the problem. _

"Keep looking, something may turn up." Knowing Helena's patience, she wouldn't stay quiet for long.

"Uh, Myka?" Abigail called from across the room, getting her boss' attention.

"What is it?"

"I think I've found her." Abigail didn't look happy about this fact and Myka frowned. "Where?" She asked.

"_Here_." Abigail pointed at the screen she was perched in front of, one of the monitors was flashing a red light, an insistent _beep_ accompanying it. "Our security has been breached."

Myka sucked in a breath. Only Helena would be reckless enough to infiltrate at the headquarters directly. "Sweep the floors, I want an exact loca-"

The telephone ringing cut Myka off mid-sentence.

Myka tilted her head to the side, a smirk on her face. _Of course she'd be polite enough to call ahead. _She pressed the receive button and rolled her eyes as a familiar voice echoed out of the speaker.

"Darling,"

"Helena," Myka answered sweetly, holding up one hand to stop Pete who had just run into the room.

"Did I trigger an alarm? My mistake."

"How careless of you,"

"On the contrary, everything is going exactly to plan,"

"Oh, really?" Myka asked, watching as Jane mouthed _clear _as their security programme swept each floor individually. _Where are you? _

"Yes, really. I just wanted to call and see how you were feeling," Helena's voice echoed about the room.

"So _now _you're concerned about my feelings?" Myka scoffed, watching as Abigail mouthed _clear _again. She signalled to Pete, and all the other agents in the room began to demolish all the data in HQ and prepare to evacuate.

"I'm always concerned about you," Helena's voice was teasing.

"You shot at me," Myka said through her teeth.

"That was an _accident._"

"An accident?"

"Exactly,"

"Well, either way, you're a poor shot," Myka said, just as Abigail caught her eye, signalling with some urgency at her screen. _Breach located. _Helena was above them, somewhere in the ventilation systems.

"I wasn't aiming at you," Helena tried to defend herself. "Besides, you tried to hit me with your car, and that definitely wasn't an accident."

"You're right, it wasn't." Was Myka's cutting reply.

Helena's sigh sounded through the speakers. "Myka, can't we just talk about this?"

"No," Myka swallowed hard. "This is your last chance, Helena. Disappear. Get out of town, or I'll have to deal with you permanently."

"Is that a threat?"

"Yes," Myka replied.

There was silence on both sides, before Helena spoke. "Myka," Her voice was all of a sudden soft and imploring.

Myka squeezed her eyes, willing herself to ignore the tugging in her chest. She looked up to see that Pete was the last agent in the room. He gave her a questioning look, but she glared at him and he took the hint, taking the escape. "I'm serious, Helena. Final warning." Myka eventually said, holding her breath for the reply.

Helena listened to her wife breathing on the end of the line, and decided it was time to go. She flipped her body in the space of the junction in the shaft, and pulled down hard on her release cord of her bungee. She felt her heart lurch for a split second as her body adjusted to the fall. She braced herself as she smashed through the ceiling panels, alarm bells announcing her arrival.

Her boots hit the floor and she unhoulstered her gun, levelling it on the only person left in the room.

"Helena," Myka's expression was unreadable as she turned away from the desk to face her wife, hands in the air as she backed towards the open windows. "Did you have to be so dramatic?"

"Because your exit plan is not, in any sense of the word, _dramatic?"_ Helena replied sarcastically, eyeing the familiar looking double-tension grappling hook escape line that Myka was inching towards. _Very familiar indeed. _She smirked.

In her ear piece Claudia's urgent voice cut in to her thoughts. _"H.G, do you have the shot?"_

Helena ignored her partner, focusing instead on Myka's tired eyes.

"The grappling hooks?" Myka asked, looking momentarily confused by the smugness on Helena's face. She didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"I designed them myself." Helena narrowed her eyes at Myka's amused expression. "What?"

"Nothing," Myka said with a wry smile. "They're just a little old fashioned."

"Old fashioned?" Helena scoffed. "Not when I invented them. Besides, they seem to be saving your lives."

Myka reached up with her right arm, flicking the safety catch on the device. "Saving our lives?" She smiled daringly. "First there would have to be something threatening us."

Then in one swift movement Myka launched herself out of the window, the line carrying her to safety 50 metres across on an adjacent building.

Helena swore under her breath and unclipped herself from her cords. She ran to the window just in time to see Myka make a neat landing on the opposite rooftop. Helena stood in silence for a few seconds letting the cool air whip her hair about.

_"__You let her go?" _Claudia's voice crackled in her ear just as Myka turned glanced at Helena before disappearing out of sight.

"I didn't _let_ her go, she got away." Helena turned around, trying to justify whatever had just happened.

_"__Sorry, I meant, you were so busy flirting with your assassin-wife that you thought it would be just fine to let her _zip-line_, yes, literally _zip-line_ away from you using a device that you designed yourself. I mean do you see the irony there? That your target escaped with using a device you designed? Escaped to god knows where and now she's on the loose and she knows you're after her, hell you went at her head fir-"_

"Claudia!" Helena cut off her rambling partner.

There was an exasperated sigh as the other end of the line. _"Sorry."_

Helena heaved a breath and looked around her at the mess, wondering where to start.

"I might need your assistance again, Claudia."

The line was quiet and Helena waited for the reply.

_"__Fine," _Claudia eventually huffed.

"Thank you, my dear. I owe you."

The reply was quiet. _"You owe me nothing, H.G. You gave me my life, remember?"_

Helena stopped what she was doing for a moment, wishing instantly that she could pull the young woman into a hug. "And you gave me back mine." She murmured.


End file.
